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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516607">The Gang Investigates Ted Cruz</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shrekelles/pseuds/The_Shrekelles'>The_Shrekelles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Gang Investigates Ted Cruz [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Led Zeppelin, The Who</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canada, Happy!Pete Townshend, M/M, Murder Mystery, Rusty vans, Virgin!Robert Plant, for like one chapter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:55:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>64,124</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24516607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Shrekelles/pseuds/The_Shrekelles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>There’s no way to pitch this. If you aren’t the kind of person who enjoys crack about LZ and The Who trying to catch the zodiac killer, there’s nothing I can say here to convince you. If that does interest you, that is between you and whatever you pray to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Idk maybe more?, Jimmy Page/Pete Townshend, Jimmy Page/Robert Plant, John Bonham/John Paul Jones, John Entwistle/Keith Moon, Roger Daltrey/Pete Townshend</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Gang Investigates Ted Cruz [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855624</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>56</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prelude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tramrat/gifts">Tramrat</a>.</li>


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/6603826">THE GANG CELEBRATES A BIRTHDAY</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlasPoorAndy/pseuds/AlasPoorAndy">AlasPoorAndy</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Robert sighed. He was in the sheerest fur-lined bathrobe he owned, oiled up, stretched, and prepared for whatever Jimmy wanted, all for his little sorcerer, and it didn’t work. Jimmy wouldn’t sleep, eat, fuck, anything. He was sunk into a deeper depression than ever before, and Robert was at a loss as to how to end it.<br/>
He had tried cooking, cleaning, BDSM, vanilla, scented candles, bath bombs, mild treason, ritual sacrifice of multiple innocent root vegetables, and the oldest nudes he could get his hands on, but whatever he did was never enough. Robert figured he might as well ask directly what Jimmy was sulking about.<br/>
“Baby, what’s wrong? Is it because I tripped and got blood all over your nice new table? Because again, I’m sorry-” Jimmy cut him off with a sigh.<br/>
“No sweet lemon, I just-” he struggled to find the right words, “you know they never found the Zodiac Killer?” Wait what?<br/>
“Huh?”<br/>
“The Zodiac Killer, Percy. No one knows who he is. He’s gone completely unpunished for his brutal crimes. Fuck, he may still be killing for all we know.” Robert had never been so confused in his life.<br/>
“Would . . . Would it make you feel better if someone figured out who he was?” Jimmy perked up ever so slightly.<br/>
“Yeah, it would actually.”<br/>
“Well then, you’re in luck, because I happen to know just the guys to help us out.” Jimmy smiled, and then Robert suddenly wasn’t so annoyed at having to do all that elaborate bullshit anymore. </p><p>Roger was enjoying the evening- dark and raining, obviously- when his phone rang. He answered genially, and was pleasantly surprised to hear Robert Plant on the other line.<br/>
“Roger?”<br/>
“Yeah?”<br/>
“Remember that favor you owe me?”<br/>
“I’m all ears.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It’s about halfway done now, I think I’ll post a proper chapter tomorrow and then every Wednesday?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The First Eve</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Pete leaned his head against the window of their rental van. Already he could tell that this would be a long trip. His skull kept bumping against the rickety glass; Jimmy had gotten the cheapest van they could find. “We’ll only have it a month or so, why waste my hard-earned money?” It turns out Bonzo was an above-average driver, but fucking Roger had insisted they travel through the backstreets, which he claimed were less accident-prone. Pete had narrowly managed to claim the window seat, leaving Jimmy to sulk in between him and Rog.</p><p>Roger was also pouting, because the window on his side was so cracked that seeing through it was basically impossible and touching it would easily constitute suicide. He dramatically draped himself over Jimmy, whose scowl deepened momentarily before he wrapped an arm around the singer while glaring directly at Robert, who was up front trying to distract the driver.<br/>The remainder of the rhythm section had been crammed into the back layer of seats. The car could technically only fit seven people, and there had been some debate as to who should ride in the trunk. Robert threw a fit when it was pointed out that Jimmy was the smallest, and when someone suggested Jonesy, Bonzo threatened to drive the car straight into a tree. Roger was the next candidate, but when Pete had tried to push him in, he brandished a fist, and the issue was dropped. Keith offered to sit on John’s lap, no homo, and everyone was more or less satisfied.</p><p>It had been five hours; the sun had long since sunk under the horizon, so the light was graying and receding like the hair of a middle-aged nobody. Pete shuddered at the thought. John seemed to take this to mean that he was cold, and tried to pass his coat to Pete in a gesture that was as sweet as it was stupid. In the process he managed to disturb 75% of the occupants of the van, most of whom were already in sour moods. They had spent this long in the car trying to find a hotel that a) Met Robert’s criteria, b) Was cheap enough to keep Jimmy from bitching, and c) Hadn’t already banned Keith. They may as well look for the fountain of youth. Most of the middle row were still pissed off, but everyone else had pretty much come to accept the fact that they would end up sleeping in the car.</p><p>Pete gave up on the window, and decided to lean his head against Jimmy instead. This did not go over well. Said man was in an argument with Robert, both making a valiant effort not to start screaming at each other.<br/>“What the fuck do you think we need room service for?”<br/>“Well, James, I’m so sorry that some people have living standards.”<br/>“Don’t you ‘James’ me, you little harlot!”<br/>“Little? That’s not what you said last ni-”<br/>“Could you two please shut up?” Bonzo was the first, definitely not the last, to raise his voice. Meanwhile, Jonesy had woken up as John, struggling to untangle his jacket from his and Keith’s seatbelt, elbowed him in his nose, which was now bleeding. Wonderful. As Roger shoved Jimmy in his sleep to try and get him to shut up, the powder keg of yelling and vitriol was one more disturbance away from erupting. So Pete, like the little shitlord he was, decided to pile on the last straw.<br/>“Can someone please explain to me what fascism even is?”</p><p>Somehow the explosion was even worse than he could have predicted. Finally, Bonzo got fed up and pulled the van into a KFC parking lot. Without saying a word he got out, taking the only key with him, and walked into the restaurant. Over the next hour, one by one, everyone else got out and joined him. Sitting around the table, all eyeing the untouched bucket of meat, everyone was finally able to have a quiet, sensible discussion about where they were going to sleep. Robert agreed to sleep in a motel, Jimmy agreed to let them spend more money on someplace for the rest of the trip, and Keith agreed to stay in the van and sneak in later.</p><p><br/>It turned out all the motels were booked. So the gang furiously drove back to the parking lot. There wasn’t really room for eight to sleep, but Robert wouldn’t let anyone try to sleep outside of the car, because “What if he gets you?” ‘He’ of course being the killer. Jonesy tried to climb up onto the ski rack, which went about as well as you’d predict. He ended up banging his little head on the side of the car as he slipped back down to earth, into John’s arms, which evoked his second nosebleed of the evening.<br/>Keith swore up and down that he could smell their uneaten chicken bucket in the dumpster right next to the car, and surprised exactly no one by actually jumping in and digging it out. He devoured the meal in the back, and felt very special that John sat there with him.<br/>“Are you even hungry?”<br/>“No, but I won this food from that raccoon fair and square, I earned this meal.” John still looked skeptical, but there was real affection there.</p><p>Jonesy hung his head backwards over the edge of the seat, trying to stop the bleeding, while Bonzo kept trying to figure out if he was concussed. The only problem was that he had no clue what a concussion actually looked like or was.<br/>“Umm, hm. Do you smell burnt toast?”<br/>“I think that’s a stroke symptom.” Roger was very amused by his friend’s congested voice.<br/>“Oh. Ok, uhhhh”<br/>“I’m fine-”<br/>“Is your nose wet?”</p><p>Meanwhile, Robert and Jimmy were trying to get comfortable in the trunk. It was open enough to breathe, but that hadn’t stopped Robert from panicking and punching a hole into the tail light. As Jimmy grumbled about their warranty, he tucked himself into his stupid giant golden lover.<br/>“Jimmy?”<br/>“Yeah?”<br/>“Do you think the killer’s roaming about?”<br/>“I don’t think he’s going to look in the trunk of a van in a KFC parking lot for victims, Percy. If anything, we look like serial killers.” There was a pause.<br/>“Pagey?”<br/>“What Robert?”<br/>“How come whoring someone out and pimping someone out is the same thing, but a whore and a pimp are different?” Jimmy didn’t even bother to reply. A moment later, Robert’s voice piped up from the darkness again.<br/>“Hey baby?”<br/>“Yes?” He tried not to let his exhaustion and short temper creep into his voice.<br/>“Goodnight, I love you.” Goddamnit, Percy was the most obnoxious person Jimmy had ever met, but he was just so fucking cute.<br/>“I love you too.”</p><p>Roger and Pete had graciously allowed the injured waif a clean place to slumber, which meant they were sleeping on the floor. Of the rental van.<br/>“Hey, Rog, has anyone ever told you that you’re super fucking hot?”<br/>“I’m still mad at you.”<br/>“Well, I tried.”<br/>“How come you don’t try until I get mad at you for not trying?”<br/>“How come you look like a sheep? Fuck you?”<br/>“Love you too hon.”<br/>“Yeah, you dumb sloth.”<br/>“Old tart.”<br/>“Fluffy poofter.”<br/>“Depressed queer parrot.”<br/>“Haha your dad hit you.”<br/>“Haha your dad died mad at you.”<br/>“Rotfl no one likes you bc you’re a square.”<br/>“Rotfl it’s a miracle you haven’t died of a heroin overdose yet.”<br/>“Lmfao remember that time you attempted suicide and none of your family noticed?”<br/>“Lmfao remember that time your grandma let you get ra-”<br/>“Hey, mates,” Jonesy interrupted from his pedestal, “you’re making everyone sad and Keith’s about to cry. Just, let’s be quiet, yeah?” They shut up, and soon, despite the smell of rancid KFC and the sound of seagulls having loud rough sex, everyone fell asleep.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>They do get longer, I swear. Also, the fact that people are apparently reading this blows me away, thank you.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Investigation Begins</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
In the morning, it was decided that the gang was to split up into groups of two, everyone partnering with their corresponding band member. The bassists would be together, the singers, so on and so forth. The singers, being the most charismatic, were to talk to local law enforcement. The guitarists, being the most “artistic” as Robert had so tactfully put it, were to try and decipher the ciphers left by the killer. The bassists, as the smartest, quietest, and best in general, were to sort through every scrap of documented evidence, categorize it, and draw their own conclusions. The drummers were to “poke around and probe the locals,” although it was pretty clear that Jimmy just gave them an arbitrary responsibility, and had no faith in them at all. The one job they were actually expected to do was finding a hotel. Jimmy handed Keith his credit card, trying as hard as he possibly could not to cry, and yet still failing. 
</p>
<p>
As Bonzo dropped the singers off, the investigation got off to a rough start. Robert immediately whipped out his cute little detective hat, and declared himself “Detective Robert, on the case!” Roger obviously loved and admired Robert’s cute little detective had, and made no secret of that. Robert reasoned that Roger too deserved a cute little detective hat, so they went and tried to find him one instead of whatever Jimmy had told them to do. Bossy little prat.<br/>
“Guitarists, amiright?” Roger had quipped, and Robert couldn’t have agreed more.  
</p>
<p>
The bassists and guitarists were dropped off at the same place, a quaint little property in the suburbs housing their greatest ally: Randy. Jimmy had been very frustrated that local and federal officials didn’t want his help on the case, obviously credible investigator that he was. Robert bought him a dumb little hat, and he had even started inner-monologuing like a crime noir detective just for the occasion. But luckily, Jimmy had come into contact with his savior. Randy was a nice white guy in his thirties with a receding hairline and, best of all, glasses, the universal signifier of trustworthiness. It turned out that Randy was also very interested in the case, and agreed to let them use his files for free! Randy was the best!<br/>
They made their way down into Randy’s document bunker, as the man himself didn’t seem to be in the area. As per Jimmy’s instructions, all the photocopied ciphers had been separated and placed in their own envelope taped to the bunker door. Well done, Randy! Jimmy and Pete took their envelope and went to a park, to get their creative juices flowing. However, they were deterred on the way, when they happened upon the cutest little cafe, which as we all know is like catnip for artists, and decided to study there. But then, as fate would have it, someone had left a copy of The Social Contract out, and Pete made a snipe about it, and then Jimmy made a snipe about it, and then some cute girl in a beret and a scarf noticed that Jimmy was wearing the same ensemble, and joined the conversation, and before you know it the whole cafe were arguing about philosophy and politics and human nature. The ciphers laid on a very aesthetic tiny table, forgotten, under a cup of sugary black coffee that had already gone cold. 
</p>
<p>
The bassists ventured into the bunker itself. The air conditioning in there was stronger than any either of them had ever felt. John had always wanted to be a real man and offer his coat to a trembling wretch; giving his paper-thin cardigan to an unaffected Jonesy would have to do. Of course, the bassists being who they were, they promptly found a place to be and started methodically and carefully going through the documents, sorting them on an index of subject matter and importance to the case. They drifted in and out of conversations all day, both being rather quiet and prone to bouts of companionable silence. It was, altogether, not a bad day for the Johns. 
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile, Robert and Roger were at a thrift store, because Roger didn’t trust big chain stores. All the hats were infected with head lice and/or <em>clearly</em> not detective hats. They, like their lovers, were sidetracked- they saw the cutest little kid, and it looked like she was lost, so they had to help her, right? Fortunately, it turned out she wasn’t lost, but they were already in an ice cream parlor, so why not get a cone? But then, suddenly, it was four pm and they were on a bench in the middle of the mall, Diet Pepsis in hand, sharing their deepest fears, before Roger remembered that they had a job to do.<br/>
Robert frantically looked through the convenient hat shop they stumbled upon, and luckily found several detective hats. So obviously, they just had to have a makeover montage, where Roger tried on all the hats. It didn’t really make sense that there were dressing rooms in a hat shop, but the blonds decided to utilize them anyway. When Roger finally came out in the perfect hat after a suitably wacky montage, Robert decided to compliment his friend the only way he knew how. “Damn, were your parents bakers?” He asked.<br/>
“No they were unem-”<br/>
“Because you are a cutie pie.” Roger giggled.<br/>
“Are you from Tennessee?” Robert shook his head, eagerly awaiting the punchline. “Because. . . <em>Fuck how does it go?</em> . . . You’re hot.”<br/>
“Thank you! Are you French? Because Eiffel for you.”<br/>
“Are you a parking ticket? Because you’ve got FINE written all over you.”<br/>
“If you were a book, you’d be in fine print.”<br/>
“I’m glad I have my library card, because I sure am checking you out.”<br/>
“Are you a bank account? Because you have my interest.”<br/>
“I hope you know CPR, because you took my breath away.”<br/>
“Were your parents boxers? Because you are a knockout.”<br/>
“I need help with an equation-”<br/>
“Oh I’m actually not good at math please don-”<br/>
“It’s X + U = 25. I think X must be 15, because you sure are a ten.”<br/>
“Oooh that one was smooth.”<br/>
“Damn, you’re so hot that I forgot my pick up line.”<br/>
“Are you the earth’s axis? Because my whole world revolves around you.”<br/>
“Are you that guy from Star Trek? Because Yoda one for me.” Roger was a fake nerd confirmed.<br/>
“Are you that girl from Jaws? Because I want to devour you.”<br/>
“Are you Citizen Kane? Because I want to probe deep into your personal life.”<br/>
“Are you the Mayor from Footloose? Because it looks like you went through a deep emotional journey in the last ninety minutes, and are now ready to accept dance and more generally love back into your heart again.”<br/>
“Robert?”<br/>
“Yes?”<br/>
“Fuck me.” Robert couldn’t tell if he was joking, so he made an ambiguously positive expression, and waited for the problem to go away. He was good at that. 
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile, the drummers had immediately failed their only job. They’d found a hotel that was entirely booked, but decided that they were going to check it out anyway. That was six hours ago. They were now in a hot tub- five feet apart, obviously- comfortably tipsy and wrapped up in a conversation with a very nice man who was definitely not affiliated with any organized crime in any way. Tony seemed to think that Bonzo owed him money, and the latter couldn’t remember whether that was the case. Keith announced that he was going to cool off for a minute.<br/>
About thirty minutes later, when Bonzo astral projected back into the real world, he noticed that Keith had not yet returned. That was . . . probably fine. He was an adult, he could take care of himself. Wait- what the fuck, no he couldn’t, it was Keith. 
“Yeah haha that’s great hey I have to get going it’s been lovely” by the time Bonzo had run out of vague pleasantries, he was well into the building. <em>Fuck. Where the hell is he?</em> John tried to think from his quarry’s point of view. If he were a depressed alcoholic drummer loose in California, accountable to no one- <em>wait, I am one of those. Fuck.</em> 
</p>
<p>
Concurrently, Pete and Jimmy were having an incredible time. The cafe was decidedly on Pete’s side, waffly non-committal little semi-socialist that he was. Jimmy, always a champion of rational debate, had decided, just for fun, to argue that all taxation was theft but also that landlords were worthy only of mass unmarked graves under pigsties and landfills. That really lit things up. Pete decided to counter with “Democracy is the patriarchy but also gun ownership should be mandatory.” The fury was palpable. The guitarists were really quite glad to be in this situation. It was like falling in love anew. People, especially people like Jimmy and Pete, need entropy; sometimes all you want is to watch the world burn. And although it was nice, essential even, that their singers were there to talk them off the ledge, sometimes the best thing in the world is having someone to feed the flames with you.<br/>
So, while Robert was all things good and pure and sweet and warm and wonderful, there really was no excitement akin to seeing the glint in Pete’s eyes as he addressed a suddenly quiet room, “What I don’t get is why women are even allowed to vote.” <em>Fuck.</em> As the room disintegrated into a rhetorical bloodbath, Jimmy looked from Pete to the men’s room a few times before going in there, praying to Satan or discord or whatever he believed in that Pete would catch his drift. 
</p>
<p>
Bonzo raced through the hotel. He had checked the lobby, the van, the kitchen, and the fountain. Nothing. <em>Where the hell else would he go? </em>The primary concern was that he had wandered into the neighborhood, and John would have to slowly drive through the residential area in his sketchy van, unmarked except for a bumper stick proclaiming “I love crackwhores” with a little flamingo in sunglasses. Jimmy was already on the verge of an ulcer because Robert made him pay for everything (“This whole trip <em>was your</em> idea, cupcake.”), if he had to bail Bonzo out of prison, his little head would explode.<br/>
The roof of the hotel would be a useful vantage point. Luckily, the concierge thought he was cute, so he got the access key for the low low price of a fake number and a smile. This was fortunate, as the only other ways he knew to manipulate people were violence and Robert’s dodgy strategy of, “Just take your shirt off and cry, they’ll either pity you and want to help, or get uncomfortable and want you to leave.” God, he loved the guy, but it was a minor miracle that no one had kidnapped him yet. <br/>
Taking the stairs three steps at a time, like a stone-cold badass, Bonzo made his way to the hotel in record time. But, shock of all shocks, when he burst through the door like some kind of action hero, Keith was there! John fought his anger. Here he was, distressed and anxious, and this fucker was just relaxing in a lounge chair, feeding what appeared to be crack to the pigeons and seagulls.<br/>
“Oh, John! I was hoping you’d show up. Sorry to ditch you, but that Italian guy was like a broken record. ‘Pay me back, I have eyes everywhere, blah blah blah.’”<br/>
“Keith I think maybe we should take that more seriously-”<br/>
“Yeah yeah yeah. Hey, do you have any food?”<br/>
“Um,” he dug through his pockets for a minute, “yeah, here’s some trail mix.” <em>Oh shit, don’t give that to Keith, Percy spent like £600 on that shit, don’t fucking give it to Keith. </em> But his hands moved faster than his brain ever had. 
“Thanks.” Keith proceeded to throw chunks of extremely rare and exotic fruits and nuts into the crowd of intoxicated trash-birds, and then laughed as they fought. Bonzo had to admit, it was kind of funny. Until the blood started to fly. Oh no. Oh god! They were tearing each other apart. Keith went pale, and at that moment, they were finally 100% in sync. They ran to the door, and all the way down to the parking lot, so fast that they bypassed Tony’s goons. The drummers leapt into the van and furiously fled, while trying to remember where the fuck they were supposed to pick everyone up. 
</p>
<p> 
About halfway through their day in the bunker, John Entwistle simply stopped. As he sat brushing elbows with his colleague and former lover, surrounded on all sides by some weirdo’s documents, the absurdity of the situation finally sunk in. “John?” <br/>
“Yes John?” Jonesy looked up for the first time in hours, and his neck cracked like a skull under the boot of Set. <br/>
“What are we doing?”<br/>
“We’re looking through- Jesus Christ, what <em>are</em> we doing?” They laughed for a minute, before trying and failing to go back to being productive. John sighed.<br/>
“Do you want to go on a walk?”<br/>
“I’d like that.” The bassists proceeded to have a very normal afternoon. 
</p>
<p>
John and Keith picked the guitarists up first. No one was at the bunker, so they prowled the nearby area for a bit before stumbling upon a cafe.<br/>
“Do you think they’re in there?”<br/>
“Are you kidding? The name is a pun on Helena Blavatsky, of course they’re in there.” The cafe seemed to be undergoing some sort of mass screaming argument.<br/>
“John.”<br/>
“What?”<br/>
“Those people . . . they look like those birds.”<br/>
“Christ, please never bring that up again.” Jimmy saw the van as he exited the bathroom, as did Pete when <em>he</em> left the bathroom exactly five minutes later. Goddamn them. They made their way into the vehicle.<br/>
“How was your day?” Keith’s tone was immediately accusatory, which was rich coming from the likes of him.<br/>
“It was fine Keith-” Keith didn’t even pretend to care.<br/>
“How’re the Rogers going to feel about your little liaison?” This confused everyone.<br/>
“Keith . . . Do you think our singer is named Roger?” Bonzo tried not to laugh at his friend.<br/>
“Isn’t he?”<br/>
“No.”<br/>
“Wait but then-”<br/>
“It’s Robert.” Jimmy cut in.<br/>
“You keep your whore mouth shut.”<br/>
“<b>Excuse me?!</b>”<br/>
“Why would anyone ever sleep with Pete, especially if you could fuck- wait what’s his name again?”<br/>
“Nobody tell him.”<br/>
“God you’re insufferable Pete. Anyways, I don’t even get why this is a thing. Fucking societal bullshit.” Oh joy, he was getting defensive. Bonzo wasn’t a fan of the cheating or whatever, but he really didn’t want Jimmy to already be mad when he had to tell him that they had no hotel and his credit card was probably lost, possibly in the hands of the mob. “I mean seriously, why can’t I date seven people?”<br/>
“Why seven?”<br/>
“One for every day of the week.”<br/>
“You want a harem, you little skank?”<br/>
“Absolutely. It would eliminate, at least, oh I’d say 90% of my problems.”<br/>
“That’s cool. Anyway, James, my friend, my colleague, my dear, Keith and I have something to tell you about the hotel.”<br/>
“And that is?” John looked to his cohort to deliver the news.<br/>
“We don’t have one.” <em>Smooth as sandpaper, Keith.</em><br/>
“<em>I’m sorry I must not have heard you correctly because what I heard you say was that you didn’t find us a place to stay, which is obviously not the case.</em>” Jimmy had surpassed anger; he had reached that special level of wrath where you speak very softly and over-enunciate every word. They were doomed.<br/>
“No, you heard right. Also I dropped your card in a hot tub.” Keith said all of this incredibly casually, because he apparently couldn’t see murder when it was two inches from his little face. Luckily, just as Jimmy started to twitch, Bonzo spotted his fellow Johns.<br/>
“<b>Oh hey</b> look it’s our beloved friends, <b>hey guys get in the car quick seriously hurry please</b>!” Bonzo was seriously close to crying with relief; if anything was capable of soothing Jimmy, it was the emotional anesthetic of John Paul Jones. After a brief disagreement as to who wanted to sit in the back, Jimmy soon had his bassist next to him, calmly discussing some stupid smart-person-thing with him.<br/>
</p>
<p>
As Robert and Roger started to look for the van, they immediately found it. What luck! When they got in, they noticed a tension between Pete and Keith, and plenty of stressful vibes coming off Jimmy and Bonzo.<br/>
They decided not to stir anything up, just exchanging pleasantries with everyone before sitting quietly in the back with John. All went well, as the gentle murmur of smalltalk lulled everyone into a sense of security, until Jonesy made a fatal error.<br/>
“So,” he stretched very slightly, and fought back a yawn; it had apparently been a long day for him. “where are we staying?”<br/>
“Oh, no, we forgot to tell you.” Jimmy was livid again, but maintained his passive-aggressive politeness. “Your wonderful friend forgot to book us a hotel.”<br/>
“Bonzo?” Fuck, he sounded all betrayed and disbelieving and shit. Robert saw his friend’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. The drummer couldn’t bring himself to say anything, and the silence left everyone enough time to realize that they would be sleeping in the van again.<br/>
“You know Pete and Jimmy fucked in a gross coffee shop bathroom.” Say what one would about Keith, he had an impeccable sense of timing. Robert balked.<br/>
“He- in a- with <em>Pete</em>?!” Cool he was hyperventilating, wonderful. Roger tried unsuccessfully to sooth him.<br/>
“You know I can hear you.” Pete did not appreciate Robert’s tone. As if having an affair with him specifically made it worse, because he was ugly or whatever. Man, fuck that guy.<br/>
“Oh, what, you’ve never slept around?”<br/>
“Not with a mutual friend of ours!”<br/>
“Oh, yeah, because it’s so much worse to fuck someone you know, instead of just being a tram-”<br/>
“So, which parking lot do you guys think we should sleep in?” Poor Jonesy, actually thought he was making things better.<br/>
Eventually,  they ended up in the first Denny’s that Bonzo found once he was done driving. As everyone prepared to go to sleep, there was some awkward unspoken tension about where Robert and Jimmy were going to sleep, before they baffled the entire gang by willingly choosing to sleep in the trunk together.<br/>
Jonesy was still kind of mad at his drummer, whereas John and Keith had immediately made up. Roger and Pete weren’t going to sleep together either. It was determined that the shorter, blonder ones took up the least space, and would therefore squeeze into the back.<br/>
As Robert exited the vehicle, still fuming, he suddenly noticed the bumper sticker. “John, what is that?”<br/>
“I didn’t put it there.” Now it was his turn to be frustrated and defensive. “Not my fucking problem, that’s what that is.”<br/>
The night was uncomfortable, to say the least. Jonesy and Roger were both put out, Bonzo and Pete had never really interacted one-on-one and now all of a sudden they were just supposed to sleep on the same narrow strip of van seating, even John and Keith were upset on the floor. Keith freaked out because he saw a spider, and then John got mad at him for killing it. But there was a strange kind of luck to the whole thing, in that everyone fell asleep rather quickly, not wanting to talk about anything. <br/>
Everyone was deep asleep, having disconcerting Freudian dreams that were a bit too much to unpack here, when they were awoken. Something was off, the very stability of their world seemed to be ripping apart. It took a moment for Roger to figure out what it was.<br/>
“Guys, the car is shaking!”<br/>
“Oh my god an earthquake!”<br/>
“What the hell?”<br/>
“Wait aren’t we on that fault line?!”<br/>
“San Antonio?!”<br/>
“I don’t think that’s what it’s call-”<br/>
“We’re all going to die!”<br/>
“But we’re too young and also not hot enough!”<br/>
“Speak for yourself!”<br/>
“I have so many regrets!”<br/>
“I lived a lie!”<br/>
“I’ve done nothing but make mistakes and ruin people!”<br/>
“John I never told you that I lo-” Roger couldn’t take this anymore; he awkwardly struggled to hop over the seats and get out of the van. Suddenly, the world stopped shaking. He was elated, and wrenched the door open to tell his friends.<br/>
“The earth’s not shaking, mates, just the van is!”<br/>
“Yay!”<br/>
“Wait but why?”<br/>
“I- shit, I don’t know.”<br/>
“Oh my god, someone needs to get the other two, the shaking must have closed the trunk!” The trunk was not in fact closed, and opening it was a mistake. A gasp went through the assembled crowd, and then everyone was too shocked to say anything. Eventually, Pete weakly tried to break the tension.<br/>
“Hey, at least we know what was making the van shake, eh?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m ahead of schedule, so this one’s early.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Jonesy’s Terrible Horrible No-Good Very Bad Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>That morning was permeated with the stench of eight unwashed adults smoking in a Denny’s. On average, eight out of every twelve Johns present quietly put a plan together. They decided, somewhat obviously, that yesterday’s partner assignments hadn’t worked at all in terms of productivity, excluding their own. So they drew up a new one using a discarded napkin and a stick of eyeliner that had mysteriously found its way into Pete’s bag. As the rhythm section represented the farthest extremes, the bassists themselves would obviously end up with the drummers. That left the frontmen. Robert and Jimmy, over on the other end of the table, were busy doing cutesy couple things, so that would obviously be a distraction. And with what happened yesterday, they couldn’t be with their counterparts. </p><p>After developing a plan, the two looked to the rest of them to try and direct everyone.</p><p>“And then I went into labor-“</p><p>“I’m sorry what?” Jonesy immediately regretted rejoining the discourse. </p><p>“Goddamnit Jonesy,” Pete whipped around, “if you want to understand the conversation, pay attention. You can’t just butt in and expect me to restart the story just for you-“</p><p>“Actually,” Jimmy decided to chivalrously stand up for his coworker. “I don’t think I understand either.” </p><p>“Yeah I’m confused to Pete.” Robert was quick to agree. Jimmy quickly whispered,</p><p>“Baby, you used the wrong version of too.”</p><p>“What?”</p><p>“You only spelled it with one o.”</p><p>“Jimmy I was talking-“</p><p>“Shut up!” Pete interrupted. “I’m only telling the story twice. Last night, I had a dream. I was in a land called cyberland, similar to my amazing album Lifehouse. There was a cow, named Natasha. And her udders were severely swollen and clogged. I asked her why she had been abandoned thus, and she explained to me. ‘No one wants my milk anymore, Peter. In cyberland, we only drink Kombucha.’ And there was a mean old sheep named Roger, but he’s not important. So I got down on my scraped, raw, ruddy knees, and crawling beneath the maternal behemoth, I raised my lips to her udder, to relieve her,” Bonzo quietly asked Roger why he was crying. The latter declined to respond. “But all of a sudden, I was in the dumpster behind. . . why, behind this very Denny’s!” Keith said it must be an omen, and Pete thanked him, unable to read the sarcasm. “And I was pregnant. Revolting! I tried to climb out of the dumpster, and then I went into labor! I gave birth to myself, and John. We were garbage twins.” John was unhappy with this turn of events. “I raised us from birth, it was wonderful. But then, I misplaced John! I looked everywhere. And I was terrified, because that meant I had failed him. Oh, also, I was a marionette puppet throughout this whole thing, I didn’t really know when to mention that.” </p><p>No one quite knew what to do or say. Robert didn’t reach for his little book of dream symbolism, and neither drummer even tried to make a sex joke. Jimmy attempted to break the tension, “Wait, let me guess, the father was Sigmund Freud?” But that fell flat. </p><p>Jonesy tried to be the adult in the room and schedule the day a little bit. He and Jimmy decided that Led Zeppelin’s rhythm section would pick everyone for lunch after they found a hotel, to check in on everyone’s progress. </p><p>“What time do you want to have lunch?” </p><p>“I dunno, what time is it?” John looked excited.</p><p>“Keith, this is a great chance to practice!” He whipped out his watch as the rest of the party gazed on in confused horror. “Now, the big hand is pointed at eight, and the little hand is on that one before twelve.”</p><p>“Eleven?”</p><p>“Yes! So, what time is it?” Un-fucking-real.</p><p>“ . . . Half past five?”</p><p>“Stop just saying things you think sound like times, Keith.”</p><p>“Ummmm, eleven eight?”</p><p>“Try again.”</p><p>“Eleven forty!”</p><p>“Not quite, good guess buddy.”</p><p>“Uh, gee, is it . . . Eight fifty five?”</p><p>“Excellent!” Everyone sort of exchanged looks, unsure whether this was a joke. </p><p>“Okay then. We’ll lunch at two. Does anyone have a problem with that?” No one did. “All right then. John, do you want to tell everyone their assignments?”</p><p>“Not really, but I can’t exactly say no.” He cleared his throat. “Jimmy is with Roger, they’ll be talking to law enforcement. Robert is with Pete, which retroactively seems poorly thought out, you guys are going to be looking at the ciphers. The other two Johns are finding a hotel together, and I’m sorting files with Keith.”</p><p>“Wait a second,” of course Roger was the first whiny little rebel, “how come you get to spend the day with your best friend? Isn’t that going to be a distraction?”</p><p>“Yeah, actually,” oh great, now Jimmy was in on it. Honestly those two were perfect for each other, whiny pieces of shit, “since Jonesy is the most responsible and Keith is the least, wouldn’t it make more sense for those two to pair up? The Who’s rhythm section always get into shenanigans together.”</p><p>“Hey he’s right-“</p><p>“Fine, we will switch drummers if it will make you people happy.” The dumb rubes looked satisfied, so Jonesy figured that it was probably settled.</p><p> </p><p>In due time, the gang ambled out to their rusty old van, which Jonesy was starting to suspect had character or charm or whatever. They dropped Jimmy and Roger off right in front of the pigs’ station, so they wouldn’t get distracted. Then they arrived at Randy’s bunker, and everyone piled out of the van. Jonesy clambered into the driver’s seat as Keith got into the shotgun position. They were going to find a hotel, god willing. </p><p>The first place they went thought they were a couple, and refused to serve them. The second place deemed them too scruffy. The next three places were all fully booked. And then it was time to pick everyone up.</p><p>Keith was surprisingly helpful. He kept opening the door, tried to escape notice, pointed out parking spots- something was wrong. Jonesy kept trying to figure out what his ulterior motive was. It’s not that he was a cynical fucker who inherently disbelieved in the good of mankind or anything, but he’d been around Keith before. Did it have to do with one of the Johns? If Keith thought something had happened between the bassists yesterday, he wouldn’t be nice. Unless he was trying to make Jonesy guilty and/or elicit a confession. Actually, his guard was probably raised after that thing with Pete and Jimmy. But if anything had happened with the drummers, he might be being nice out of guilt. Hm. </p><p>“If you didn’t find a hotel, or know that these are all booked, what did you guys even do all day?”</p><p>“We sat in a hot tub.”</p><p>“You can tell me, I won’t get mad at you.”</p><p>“No, really. We sat in a hot tub for six hours, shared a blunt on a roof, and then we went and grabbed you all.” That was suspicious. He’d have to ask Bonzo later. </p><p>When they pulled up to the police station, Roger and Jimmy were nowhere to be seen. So Keith was sent in, to try and find them. Some time passed. And then some more time passed. Keith eventually sauntered out, a bedraggled pair of men in tow. Jimmy’s shirt appeared to be ripped, too. However, despite their physical state, Roger and Jimmy were in a good mood, breathless and smiling. </p><p>“Oh god, you guys didn’t-”</p><p>“What, flee the cops, leading to a comedic and yet ultimately heartfelt adventure which taught us the value of friendship and fun? We <em> definitely </em>didn’t.” Roger winked, and sounded very proud of himself. </p><p>“So you promise me you didn’t have sex?”</p><p>“What? Gross! We’re not married.” They apparently both found that hilarious. </p><p>“What did you two figure out?”</p><p>“Well,” Jimmy launched into a story. “In the lilac glow of the dawn, you all dropped us off in front of the station. As we walked through the cool concrete threshold, the barrier what separates the cold cutthroat world of law enforcement from the gentle, liberating air of California, the police seemed somewhat perturbed. ‘You again?’ Shouted the leader. ‘We told you, Jimmy, we don’t want or need you,’ just like everyone in my life. We were cornered-”</p><p>“Oh look,” Jonesy deadpanned, callously cutting Jimmy off, “Pete.”</p><p>When they pulled over to pick the rest of the frontmen up, they all noticed that Pete was alone. As he clambered into the van, he explained, “I lost Robert.” </p><p>“You <em> lost Robert?” </em>Jimmy sounded like he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or confused. </p><p>“Yeah, I sat on a park bench trying to decrypt the cipher, and I heard a mischievous little laugh. I didn’t look up, and now he’s gone.” </p><p>“Maybe we should-” Jimmy interrupted Jonesy.</p><p>“Where the fuck did he go?” </p><p>“We could try to-” This time it was Pete’s turn to cut him off. </p><p>“You’re the one who knows him.” Jonesy decided to try one more time. </p><p>“What might work-” </p><p>“He’ll find his way back to us. Besides, he doesn’t exactly blend into a crowd.” This seemed like poor advice, but who was he? Only the voice of reason. Why listen to stupid Jonesy when fucking nose man and the amazing Crowley fanboy were there? Whatever. If/when Robert got his prancy little ass kidnapped, it wouldn’t be his fault. No blood on Jonesy’s hands. </p><p>They turned down the winding dirt road, on their way to the bunker, when Jonesy had to brake very suddenly. Bonzo and John were in the street, visibly distressed. Jonesy abruptly stopped the car, concerned enough to disregard everyone else’s safety. Poking his head out of the half-open window, he tried to gently yell at them to get in the car, and were they okay, and had they seen Robert anywhere, and where were their shirts, and so on. Bonzo climbed into the passenger’s seat, which Keith had already jumped out of to go sit in the back with John. </p><p>“Are you guys okay?”</p><p>“Well,” John spoke up; Bonzo let him tell the story. “We got out of the car, and we parted ways with Pete and <em> Hey where did Robert go?” </em></p><p><em> “ </em>We’ll find him.” </p><p>“Okay. So, we tried to get into Randy’s bunker, right?’</p><p>“I assume so, I don’t know. I wasn’t there.”</p><p>“Well, the bunker was locked. So we two Johns- fantastic name for a sitcom, by the way- went into Randy’s house, because none of the doors were locked this time. We went through his kitchen into the hallway. All the lights were off after that. We crept down the hallway as the light and warmth faded, until we got to the door at the very end. And then . . .” John trailed off. He opened his mouth as if to begin speaking, but then he just shut it again. Jonesy looked over at Bonzo, who just shook his head. A moment passed, in very tense silence, before Roger decided to break the ice. </p><p>“So, who wants to hear about our day? Because Jimmy thought up some very clever metaphors about it and-”</p><p>“Read a room you dumb cunt!” That shut everyone up. Jonesy found himself appreciating Keith, ever so slightly. He had finally ushered in some peace and quiet, maybe now the other two Johns could adjust to their trauma and move on-</p><p>“Look guys it’s Robert!” Jimmy stuck his head out the window, looking very much like a purse dog, and shouted. “Hey Blondie get in our van! Come on, stop looking around, we’re right here you useless hippie!” He muttered to himself, “Ugh, stupid little slut.” Before resuming in his shouting. “The car is right here, to your left! Wrong left!” </p><p>“Jimmy, someone's going to call the police.”</p><p>“Nah, he sees us, he’s just playing games.” It was genuinely unnerving to watch Robert slowly amble out of the woods, like a killer clown or something, and make his way towards the rusty van. As he climbed in and immediately sat himself down on Jimmy, the poor thing was bombarded with questions. To his credit, Percy was excellent at answering them succinctly and bafflingly. </p><p>“Where did you go?”</p><p>“To those woods.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“I wanted to.”</p><p>“What’s with the black eye?”</p><p>“Blood pools under the skin.” Eventually everyone accepted that whatever tantalizing secrets he had would die with him, and moved on to arguing about lunch. Jonesy decided to do a hilarious callback by getting fed up and pulling into the nearest parking lot. </p><p>It turned out to be a parking lot for a grocery store, so the joke worked out less well than he thought. </p><p>Olive Garden was the only place they were all moderately satisfied with, although none of them were actively happy about it either. It was atrocious. They held up the entire restaurant waiting for a big enough booth to fit them all, and then Keith tried to pretend to speak Italian, but the little waitress thought it was legit and got all embarrassed about the quality of the food, not to mention Robert shoving breadsticks into his clothes. </p><p>All in all, it was an unproductive lunch, but it was somewhat soothing to just exist with everybody else in that beautiful golden Olive Garden. Jonesy even had the nerve to be somewhat optimistic about the quest for the hotel. It was decided that he would do it alone, while Keith would try to console the rest of the rhythm sections at a small pizza place that was definitely not a front for the mob. </p><p> </p><p>Luckily, the next place he found had enough space, was nice enough that Robert wouldn’t throw a hissy fit, and was new enough that they hadn’t been warned about The Who yet. He must have accidentally done something nice to a sorcerer or something, because the tables had finally turned in his favor. Accordingly, Jonesy decided to give himself the rest of the day off. He drove around the city, poking around, just going to all the nooks and crannies and observing- things he could never do with the others, without them getting bored. Jonesy didn’t care if he was boring; he was entertaining to himself, not to mention exponentially less miserable than all of his colleagues. </p><p>When the time came to gather the remainder of the gang, he was far more relaxed. It was even kind of fun, in a sadistic sort of way, making everyone wait until they got to the hotel to find out where they were staying. When they pulled into the parking lot, Robert started to tear up, “We’re sleeping in a parking lot again? And a hotel parking lot, to cruelly remind us of the better times we could be having? Jonesy why are you always so <em> mean </em>?”</p><p>“What? No, we have a suite <em> in </em> the hotel.” Everyone was speechless. <em> Another win for Jonesy. </em>As they struggled to untie their luggage from the roof, John asked who was willing to sleep on the pull-out couch. Jonesy was unutterably ecstatic to explain to him that, no, it would just have to be two to a king bed, two beds per room. In that moment, he understood how Jimmy must feel, surrounded by young adult men gazing at him with the reverence and adoration one would usually reserve for a deity. </p><p>And yet, when they got to their rooms, Jimmy seemed a little disappointed. </p><p>“What Jimmy? What could <em> possibly </em> be wrong now?” </p><p>“Nothing, John, it’s just. . . I dunno, I think we were all anticipating some kind of . . . you remember the last two times when there were only two beds for the eight of us?”</p><p>“Well, if you wanted wacky homoerotic mishaps, you shouldn’t have put me in charge.” He didn’t mean to snap, honestly he didn’t, but Christ Jimmy. All he ever did was slave away, unnoticed and unthanked, and it was never good enough, all Jimmy ever did was gripe. Maybe he should quit the band-</p><p>“Hey John?”</p><p>“What John?”</p><p>“We’re . . . You know . . . ?”</p><p>“Sleeping together? Yes, I assumed so.”</p><p>“Yeah, okay, just making sure. Oh and are we staying with the other rhythm section, like the last few times, or with those two?” </p><p>“Nope, The Who is sharing a room!” Pete very eagerly declared. It seemed he was well acquainted with exactly how Jimmy and Robert liked to spend an evening. </p><p>“Wait no I called-” But it was already too late. The Who was gone, and Jonesy was left with the other three, viciously arguing about what to get from room service. </p><p> </p><p>Robert believed that they were having a super fun slumber party. It was agony. The first fifteen minutes was fine. They were having dinner, wrapped up in a non-argument about which Tolkien character they could beat in a fight, good times were had by all. </p><p>But then it kept going. Robert started braiding Jimmy’s hair, and engaged everyone in a long, serious talk about their deepest fears, which somehow managed to transition into a fun discussion of their sex lives by the time the two had switched positions. Next, Jimmy got it into his little head to prank call Peter Grant, which was in no way going to backfire horribly and violently. He tried and failed to stifle his laughter as the phone rang, and made sure to shush everyone- even though no one had made a noise- as a matter of procedure. Jonesy could make out a muffled statement on the other end of the line. </p><p>“Yeah Peter, it’s Jim. I just wanted you to make sure to cancel the next tour- what- we can’t- I’m <em> trying </em> to explain- what- no- Peter, let me finish! We can’t do it, because I got Robert pregnant!” As he slammed the phone into the receiver, the room burst out laughing. Even Jonesy had to admit the notion was absurd, and it was truly funny to imagine Peter reacting. But then, just as they wound down from that little adventure, their singer wouldn’t let the night die, even though they all had to wake up early to go catch a serial killer. </p><p>“Ooh, who wants to play seven minutes in heaven?”</p><p>“No Robert.” Jonesy wasn’t in the mood to humor him.</p><p>“How about seven minutes in hell? It’s like the other one, but instead of making out, you fight!”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Okay then how about truth or dare?”</p><p>“Boring.” By this point he’d been awake for nearly 20 hours, and was in blurt mode. </p><p>“Spin the bottle?”</p><p>“Not after last time.”</p><p>“Oh, I can do sexy shadow puppets!” This time, Bonzo was curious. </p><p>“Wait, what makes them sexy?”</p><p>“No!” Jonesy seldom whined, but he was so goddamned done for the day. He was beyond the point of words. He settled for a fragmented sentence from John’s shoulder. “Don’t want.” Jimmy put a hand on Robert’s shoulder,</p><p>“Baby, it seems like everyone just wants to go to sleep.” That finally shut him up. After a quick shower with Jimmy<em> , </em> Robert at long long last tried to go to sleep. The first few moments were bliss. </p><p>And then the banging started. </p><p>It was coming from The Who’s room, and accompanied by what sounded like the voice of one Keith John Moon. </p><p>“Dear god.” Jonesy tried to bury his ears in a mound of pillows, but it was to no avail. </p><p>“Wait,” Robert said, in a tone like he’d just solved a murder, “are they having sex?” Everyone paused. </p><p>“No, Percy, they’re filing their taxes.” It was a long night. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I almost want the twist to be that the killer is Jeff Beck, so I can put ‘Jeff the Killer’ in the tags.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. A Vague Gesture in the Direction of Actual Detective Work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith woke up, showered, tried to get his hair into order, all the boring milquetoast morning things that you don’t want to hear about, dear fanfiction reader, and yet here we are. No one in the room was awake yet, and he didn’t want to go down to breakfast alone. When he stepped out onto the balcony to smoke, he flinched at a burst of movement in his peripheral vision. The source was one James Patrick Page, on the next balcony over. He wasn’t smoking, just looking pretentiously at the city. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he </span>
  </em>
  <span>is</span>
  <em>
    <span> the one for Pete. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy looked over at him, but didn’t say anything. There was nothing to be said. It was kind of nice, for a minute. But Keith was much less adept at ignoring people. He kept trying to look at the sky or whatever, but he couldn’t unsee this guy he had called a whore not two days before. Should he apologize? No, Jimmy didn’t really deserve an apology; he was a whore if Keith had ever met one. Which he had. Frequently. Plus, this was a weird time and place to do it. Why couldn’t he just leave him be? Why did he always fuck up? Why was he such a fuck up?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So!” He shouted, making Jimmy jump a little. Keith talked not because he had anything to say, but because he hated silence. “The weather sure has been . . . interesting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really? I find that it bores me, but, whatever floats your boat, I guess.” Jimmy seemingly hadn’t planned on speaking yet today. But what the fuck was Keith supposed to do now? Go back to silence, now explicitly awkward rather than implicitly? But his little </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend? adversary?</span>
  </em>
  <span> had pretty definitively put the strained small talk out of its and their misery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I . . . How’s Bonzo doing?” Some common ground.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“ . . . Oh. That is unfortunate. Is he ill?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Usually.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh. Um, I’m sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Today he’s just tired, I think.” Keith mentally congratulated himself for getting more than one word at a time out of the usually taciturn Page.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? Jet lagged?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. It seems your friend Entwistle was having some sort of. . .” He paused as if in thought. “Well, if I had to put my money on anything, I’d say it must have been some kind of unholy intercourse with a slovenly cretin.” The casually virulent tone Jimmy spoke with took Keith aback; he should have known this was a trap. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- I must- I actually- the noise of that kept me up too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He offered meekly. Jimmy was apparently content to let the conversation stop, sulk in his own martyrdom for a bit, and his tone had almost scared Keith into doing the same. But then, his haughty hypocrisy became readily apparent the more Keith thought about it. Unlike Jimmy, he wasn’t good at setting up elaborate tricks to get his point across, so he just ripped the band-aid off. To hell with the social contract. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jimmy, mate, remember that time you woke literally everyone up the night before last?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?” There was a warning in that inflection. That meant Keith was winning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually, the van was shaking like a mechanical bull and we all thought we were going to die-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I think I vaguely recall something like that-” he sounded embarrassed now, but Keith kept going,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Pete tried to come up with inspirational last words, and I was frantically looking for some means to write down my will, and I think your little bassist was still mostly asleep because he just wouldn’t let go of Bonzo,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Keith, I rememb-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But then, it turned out that all of our strife and mortal terror was only happening because you and your beau were having </span>
  <em>
    <span>ferocious</span>
  </em>
  <span> make-up sex in the trunk, like squirrels in a sock, to ammend your apparently irrepressible desire to get dicked down in a public restroom.” Keith knew that he had probably gone too far, and was really in no place to slut-shame anyone, but his mantra was that ‘too far’ doesn’t exist. And he lived by that. Jimmy spent a moment brooding before returning with, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just wish you’d stop it with the schoolgirl thing. Your voice wasn’t meant to go that high.” Now it was Keith’s turn to be silently mortified. To be honest, he had completely forgotten all the specifics of the night before. Now that they had both been humiliated, and their egos were out of the way, a more respectful air formed between them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jimmy, I-” he looked down at the beautiful concrete paradise sprawling out below as his voice quieted somewhat, “I’m really sorry if I kept you guys up. I guess I assumed the walls were thicker and Pete and Rog are always such heavy sleepers and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine. I’m sorry too.” He smiled a little, which Keith reciprocated. Luckily, Roger came bursting through the door to save them from the horrifying prospect of having to express genuine emotion for more than a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you coming down to breakfast or not?” Simultaneously, Robert rushed onto Led Zeppelin’s balcony and informed Jimmy, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, we need to hurry; breakfast is only free for the next fifteen minutes!”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert loved hotel breakfasts. All of his snobby elitist friends, who he wasn’t going to name but okay fine it was Jonesy and Jimmy, liked to mock the free hotel breakfast, but he didn’t care. They weren’t that bad, especially for free, and it was a much bigger bargain than paying $30 for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>slightly</span>
  </em>
  <span> better omelette. He loved having something to look forward to in the morning, and a reason to get up early. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert made sure to save a good windowside table for everyone while they selected their food. That wasn’t hard; no one else was there. The staff glared at him, but he didn’t care. The pamphlet said free until eleven, and it was only ten forty-eight. As the remainder of the gang made the mad dash down to the lobby, he adjusted his hair using his reflection in the window. He thought he looked quite fetching, in his little absinthe-green vestment with the chrysanthemums done in equal parts embroidery and beading. Even more aesthetically pleasing was his exquisite countenance projected onto the lush, verdant garden on the other side of the window. Truly, a sight to make poets weep. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the poets (plus the drummers and Roger) were finally making their way towards the table, they were visibly in awe. Of course. As soon as Jimmy took his place by Robert’s side, the regal, ethereal elegance would be obvious, and they would have no choice but to exalt their fearless leaders. Apparently Bonzo didn’t get the memo, because he sat next to Robert instead. It messed with his beautiful blocking, but he couldn’t just kick his best friend out of the right hand seat, what kind of a cold-hearted douchebag would do that? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he had dressed all sexy on purpose, so that made it awkward. And then Jonesy ended up next to Jimmy, which he definitely didn’t want. Not that he thought of him as a home-wrecker and harlot, or anything. But he and Jimmy were </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span>. They’d been friends in their session days, and they were so much more similar than the frontmen were. Robert figured he was probably just projecting his own insecurities onto the bassist, which wasn’t entirely fair to either of them, but it wasn’t totally unfounded. Jonesy was just so cultured, and intelligent, and witty, and metropolitan, it wasn’t fair. And Jimmy </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>got tired of talking to Jonesy, or called him an idiot, or looked at him with that intense, diminishing stare like he was just some unworthy, contemptible, base peasant who was only pretending to deserve him and his company and-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert? You didn’t vote.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm? What was the question? Sorry I completely zoned out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were going to draw names out of a hat to see who would partner up for today. You didn’t vote.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh, yeah, that sounds good to me.” With his permission, Jimmy immediately pulled out a notepad from the little detective kit Robert had insisted on buying for him. He ripped up the paper into strips, and placed those in the cute little detective hat that he hadn’t worn, despite his constant declarations of adoration. He made a great show of passing the hat to John, who made a great show of squeezing his eyes shut and shuffling the papers around. Finally, he pulled a slip out, unfolded it, and read the name aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John Baldwin. Wait,” John looked around, confused, “who the fuck?” Jimmy and Jonesy were giggling together, and Jonesy playfully chastised Jimmy. Robert’s blood was boiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay? So, Jonesy’s with,” he closed his eyes again, and drew out another slip of paper. “Percy?” Fuck. He tried to at least be happy that Jimmy had put a stupid nickname down for him as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am him.” Robert tried to act pleased, and it looked like Jonesy was making the same attempt, but he thought they both knew how awkward it would be. They liked each other well enough, but they hadn’t spent much substantial time alone together. John drew the next two papers at the same time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bonzo and Roger.” They also didn’t seem to have interacted one-on-one, but had very similar vibes, so Robert figured they would be fine. They might even become friends. They were probably his two favorites, besides Jimmy, of course. John drew the next two names. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m with Page. And then that means that Keith and Pete are together.” Robert felt the walls closing in. No one looked happy with their assignments, least of all him. So he decided to make a choice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually,” he spoke from his position at the head of the table, gathering everyone’s attention like a scattered bag of feathers, “we’ve tried partnering up twice, and as far as I can tell, we don’t seem to have accomplished anything. Right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what if we were in larger groups? Like, groups of, I don’t know, four, or eight?” Pete jumped on that bandwagon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think teamwork will make it, well, work.” John gave an exasperated sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wish you would have voted against this </span>
  <em>
    <span>before </span>
  </em>
  <span>I went to all the trouble, but sure, we can work together.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As it was decided, they went to Randy’s bunker, grabbed all the documents they could, and dashed. Now they were sitting in an empty yarn store, feasting on stale licorice and dark hot chocolate. Apparently Jimmy was friends with the nice pair of old women, Ernestine and Kimiko, who owned the place. As Roger looked around the aggressively quaint little shop, he tried to fight his feelings, but he was immensely soothed. Yarn stores have excellent vibes. Somehow both cozy and open, there were excellent refreshments, quiet customers sharing the space, and a cat that flitted in and out of existence at his own discretion. Finally, everyone could settle down and do some actual detective work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Jimmy started the meeting on a strong note, “who knows things about the zodiac killer?” No one responded to him. “Seriously? Guys?” He looked at the bassists. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t look at us, we just organized the fucking documents, we didn’t read them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Pete, any progress on those ciphers?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Jimmy sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I expected that. Robert, have you done anything useful?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well . . . No.” Roger could tell how reluctant and even ashamed his colleague was to disappoint. Jimmy looked around, running his hands through his hair to emphasize his exasperation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean none of you have any idea what we’re doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy I’m honestly surprised you didn’t figure this out sooner.” That beautiful toothpick man just sighed heavily and let his fluffy little head drop to the table below. When Robert tried to say something, he just put a frail hand up, demanding silence. It stayed that way for a few minutes, before Jimmy took a deep breath and reentered the land of the living. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well. Let’s go over the basics. Once upon a time, a couple of teenagers spent an evening relaxing by taking their car to a famous lover’s lane. They were shot.” Jimmy had linked his hands behind his back and started pacing, like a tiny professor. Roger got bored, so he started mentally cataloguing every time somebody adjusted their hair. He watched the smudge of cheap, hotel-muffin chocolate at the corner of Jimmy’s mouth move as he lectured them. Looking for a discreet way to fidget, he nudged the nearest foot to him. It nudged back, with a surprisingly perfect balance of strength and gentleness. Sexy. After about an eon of that, Roger decided to up the ante, and pushed his (totally very big and masculine) foot up the stranger’s meaty leg as far as he could. John Bonham made a face, and Roger instantly regretted his choice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who has questions?” Roger hadn’t registered a single word Jimmy had said throughout the entire uninterrupted hour he had spoken, but he could tell from the tone that questions were unlikely to be tolerated, so he kept his mouth shut. He would just ask Robert or Pete for the details later. “Good. What’s our plan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know. Why don’t you tell us, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mister head investigator.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Robert was trying to be seductive. He sent a lightning-quick glance at Roger for feedback, and the latter simply shook his head. That wasn’t hot; and now Jimmy had been provoked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do this all alone! And I know that this is all a game to you, like there’s absolutely nothing at stake, and when other people are murdered it doesn’t matter because you’re selfish douchenozzles-” mercifully, Jonesy cut him off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re not trained homicide detectives, Jimmy. Robert isn’t apathetic- remember that time he cried because you stepped on a butterfly?- he just doesn’t know what to do.” And everyone rejoiced, and knew that whenever tensions ran high, they could count on John Paul Jones to suck the passion out of any moment. Jimmy sighed. Pete proposed that they go to the original crime scene, to see if there was any evidence the police had missed. Roger thought that was kind of stupid, because years had passed and any additional stuff they ran into was likely from other random occurrences, but he was very dumb, and probably didn’t know. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John Entwistle tried not to hate the drive. Bonzo kept getting bored or distracted or lost, so they put Jimmy up front. He apparently had never bothered to learn to drive, though, so Jonesy did that part, and those two had something going on, he was sure. And, yeah, they hadn’t been together for a while now, but there was still a faint, infinitesimal trace of possessiveness left over in his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Besides, Robert wanted to sulk in the back with his best friend, but Keith decided to spend “just this one 40 minute car ride” with his fellow drummer, so now John had to ignore Pete and Roger’s weird pent-up homoerotic energy happening not two inches away from him. He tried to stare out of the window, but he could just see the stupid singer’s fucking blonde reflection. So he stared at the back of Jimmy’s head, trying to see if he could light it on fire with pure hatred. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’d reached their destination, Jimmy opened his dopey satchel</span>
  <span>and whipped out a comically large magnifying glass. As he started inspecting the ground, Keith pulled out a pack of cigarettes and everybody clustered around him. What followed was fifteen minutes of calm conversation about what everyone had enjoyed so far, the other things they wanted to do, etcetera. It was nice, until Jimmy started yelling, asking why no one was helping him, calling them traitors. Robert motioned his head towards where the irate guitarist was standing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll go keep him occupied.” As he stepped out of the group, Jonesy remarked, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>what you’re best at.” It was very offhand, and he probably didn’t mean a thing by it, or think about it very hard if at all before uttering it, but John didn’t miss the way Robert paused, as if unsure, for the briefest glance of a moment before proceeding toward Page. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The conversation gently drifted to their assignments, and how terrible that would have been. Pete and Keith agreed they would obviously have gotten high and then maybe gone dumpster diving, because secretly Pete didn’t really understand Keith all that much. John had never had an easy time loving them both as he did whilst they didn’t seem to know what to make of each other, or of the other’s strong ties with the man they each perceived to be their best friend. Pete was a delight, in many ways, and there was no replacing the effortless intimacy of a childhood friend. But on the other hand . . . Keith. He tried to conjure the words to express that man and the way he felt about him, but the English language fell short. Keith couldn’t be pinned down by anything as simple as language, or society, or nice leather handcuffs that had cost him 70 fucking dollars. Said man spoke, and the angels cried. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying, if Gabriel knocked her up, that means angels </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> have sex, right?” John could have cried. He knew Pete and occasionally Page had a thing for professing insane opinions, but they were only doing it ironically. Keith contained within his mind the purest, most distilled, gourmet chaos the world had ever seen, without the smug, pretentious inauthenticity of others’ randomness. Truly, a god among men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Jimmy’s mildly nasally shout brought John’s stream of consciousness back to the real world. “These clues aren’t going to find themselves!” Everyone rolled their eyes and tried to satisfy him by wandering around the area, kicking the gravel and glancing at the ground as if searching. That was, until Roger let out a sharp yell, like a horrible purse-dog that had been kicked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys! Guys look!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure it’s a very intimidating chipmunk, Rog.” John said, gratefully absorbing the way Pete sniggered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No it’s a clue!” Jimmy rushed over, bumping the smaller blond off his feet in his eagerness. He did not apologize.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, boots!” John didn’t miss the way Peter shuddered. “Nice ones. Ostrich, if I’m not mistaken.” He gave the boots a once-over with his stupid magnifying glass. John wouldn’t lie, the Sherlock hat was kind of cute though. With Jimmy’s cherubic features, he looked like a child playing dress-up. “Oh my will, the killer left a note!” To everyone’s surprise, it actually looked legit. The handwriting was correct, it started with ‘This is the Zodiac speaking’, it ended with the symbol, everything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John commented to whomever happened to be near, which happened to be the other two Johns, “Guys this actually looks legit.” Bonzo said,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope Robert didn’t set this up to make Jimmy feel like a good detective, I think he could actually get arrested for that shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think it would look that real if Robert did it?” Jonesy scoffed. Jimmy had started reading aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘This is the Zodiac speaking. SO you’ve found me. Little do you know, the hunt is only beginning. The carnage will not stop; I walk among you. But you will not catch me. Little do you know what you’re dealing with, and you will find yourself Dazed and Confused-’ Holy shit guys that’s our song!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought that one was James Holmes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah- well, technically- no, I mean, the killer knows who we are!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy, I don’t think dazed and confused is an implausible phrase to incidentally use.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but he capitalized it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you just keep reading sweetheart?” Now John was starting to wonder if Robert </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> write the damn thing. Jimmy’s eyes scanned the paper quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so, it’s mostly just threats and stuff, but he also said a few of our song titles in capitals. He’s onto us.” As he said it, Page narrowed his eyes even more so than usual and looked around, to indicate suspicion. It’s fine, it’s not like the gang was composed almost entirely of very paranoid people- oh wait. </span>
  <em>
    <span>We’re fucked. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Pete decided to try and mediate, “he’s just a fan?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of The Who? I don’t think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey fuck you Rob.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I just meant, um, you guys aren’t killer-bait like we are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You wish, fairy boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy, babe, now might be a great time to defend my/our honor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, I told you, if I get in another duel the US is going to revoke my green card.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah but-” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If there’s a killer on the loose who maybe knows that we specifically are investigating him, then I think we have more important things to worry about.” John was still mad, but he wasn't stupid. And after that thing at Randy’s house, he knew the value of caution. They all looked to Jimmy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do we do now?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jimmy tried not to panic. Everyone was looking at him, imploring, and it was all his fault whatever happened next. All those eyes, pointed at James, like, ‘</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh, help me, Jimmy, I don’t know what to do without you, we’re so helpless, please fix us, please Jimmy, it all counts on you.’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>As always, the onus was on him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We. Should. Um. Go to lunch! And then we’ll worry about it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Our lunches are in the car.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember,” Jonesy monotonously informed him, “how you told me to pack lunch, because you didn’t want to eat at some ‘backward red-neck diner?’” He kept going, long after everyone started to snicker. “Even though, and far be it from me to criticize the great and mighty dark lord, but California is far from famous for their redneck population, but I obeyed anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You made lunches?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I slipped out to a restaurant at 5 am because I hate myself or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“New plan: we’ll sit in the locked van and have lunch. And I will figure out our next step in there. Where it’s safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They all huddled together in the middle row, eating the onion nuggets that Jonesy had ordered from McDonald’s as their “packed lunch.” Jimmy didn’t even dislike them, they were just chunky onion rings and he both recognized and appreciated that, but they had gone room-temperature, and all the grease had congealed into repugnant white streams, which Jimmy wasn’t sure was supposed to happen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Jonesy,” he had to ask, “why didn’t you just get hamburgers?” John Paul answered as if it was obvious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t Robert a vegetarian?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” He shrugged his slight shoulders. “My mistake.” Jimmy refused to let that insane excuse fly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even if he was, couldn’t you have gotten French fries? Onion </span>
  <em>
    <span>rings,</span>
  </em>
  <span> maybe? Something normal?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have fries for breakfast every day; I thought you’d like a change of pace. And then when I asked for onion rings, they told me they don’t usually prepare those until after 5 in the morning, but they had some onion nuggets left over from yesterday that the rats didn’t want. They let me have them for free, and I know how you love a bargain.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” John of the mods was as horrified as anyone else, “you mean rats have been on this food that we’re eating?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, remember, the rats didn’t want them. Wouldn’t even touch the carton.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shouldn’t we talk about the killer?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Pete, we should.” The gang decided to assume that the zodiac knew who they were, just to be safe. With that granted, they tried to lay out a strategy. Roger suggested going to other past crime scenes, while Pete thought they should try to lure the killer to them by recreating the conditions of previous murders. Jonesy advocated cutting their losses and going back to England, maybe solving the Jack the Ripper case since he was, you know, dead? Jimmy only said, “next time,” which elicited a truly inspiring glower from Mister Jones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe,” Bonzo and Keith had an idea, glorious, “we could just wait here, and see if the killer comes to retrieve his fancy boots.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey where </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> the boots?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- that is a good question John.” Robert looked at Pete. Jimmy was enough of an observant badass investigator to notice it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you two know?” He demanded, trying to put intimidating authority into his nasally child voice. Robert shook his head virulently, which caused his entire pile of hair to bounce and quiver like a plate of jello. Pete likewise denied any knowledge, but his hair was boring and straight. Jimmy directed his most withering glare at Robert, who he knew couldn’t stand much direct pressure from someone he loved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- Jimmy, can I maybe speak to you in private?” Jimmy balked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to leave the safety of the van because you’re two embarrassed to tell me, who knows every inch of your body and soul-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>used the wrong version of too!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just. . . Whisper it in my ear or something.” Robert obeyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete, um, he looked at the boots, and- oh god- he told me- because of that thing with the coffee shop, and-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did he seriously hit on you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, yeah? He said he thought I’d look good in the boots, so he, sort of- I turned him down, yeah? I did, don’t look at me like that! Anyway, he kept getting all hot and bothered, so, he threw them in the lake.” That was all Jimmy needed to burst into a fit of very masculine rage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete you goddamn cretin! Go fish them out or by Satan I will end you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mate I think you already did.” Wow, Jonesy, so smart and sophisticated, super mature. Jimmy didn’t say any of that though. He let Robert make his point, but less articulately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He said he was sorry!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert, honey,” Roger gently admonished his doppelgänger in a loud enough voice to drown out Bonzo’s concern, “you can’t just let him do shit like that and then apologize. Have some self-respect.” Robert looked unsure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey mates-” Bonzo again vied unsuccessfully for everyone’s attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Percy I told you,” Jimmy tried to soothe his lover, “it’ll never happen again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy have you ever gone more than a week without infidelity?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone, please listen-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You stay out of this, Jonesy!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d rather John died than left me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith is this really the time or place for that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith you know I’ll never leave you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey,” Jonesy fucking whispered, causing everyone to immediately silence themselves, “I think you should all listen to Bonzo, please.” The aforementioned man just pointed to the window. Everyone recoiled when they saw Randy trying to get into the car! </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Onion nuggets were, in fact, a thing that McDonald’s served for a short time in the early seventies. Also, if Stephen Davis is to be believed, Jimmy Page did eat French fries for breakfast somewhat frequently.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Jimmy Page Reaches and then Immediately Falls From Grace</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When the gang woke up, they did so with optimism. Jimmy was glad that they’d had a breakthrough in the case, and everyone else was glad that they had escaped the killer and were getting a break. He was still wondering what Randy was doing there, but it seemed he hadn’t wanted to talk in the moment, considering the machete he was waving around. Yes, after last night’s events, when they had haphazardly fled Randy in their rickety van, filed a report with the police about the note/boots, and managed to pilfer enough documents to bust the case open like an oyster who owed them money, Jimmy had assented to the proposal of a break. That morning, as he curled his hair, he idly wondered what they’d do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While they waited for Jimmy to get out of the bathroom, Pete and the blonds calmly discussed that very topic. Robert wanted to go to Disneyland, but he seemed primarily enthused about the lamest attractions. The People Mover, the Country Bear Jamboree, the Carousel of Progress, which Roger was pretty sure had been demolished, and the petting zoo. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>petting zoo. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Pete only talked about Space Mountain over again, until someone brought up Splash Mountain and he wouldn’t shut up about Disney censuring art. Robert had apparently seen Song of the South though, and claimed that it bored him to the brink of tears. Roger had never been and didn’t see the appeal, because “isn’t it, you know, for children?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, in the adjacent room that the rhythm sections had settled into, their ideas of a day off turned out to be varied and contradictory. Keith wanted to surf, despite having never had lessons or practice of any kind. John didn’t want him to hurt himself, besides, both bassists were allergic to sunlight. Bonzo kept saying he didn’t care, but he also hated every idea that everyone else had. This was increasingly frustrating. Eventually, Jonesy managed to pry out of him that he wanted to go to a car exhibition, which Keith couldn’t go to for liability reasons, and likely wouldn’t entertain anyone else for very long. John offhandedly mentioned that Roger was a lame car guy as well, but they weren’t sold on those two separating themselves from everyone else. Jonesy genuinely didn’t care where they went, and Bonzo and Keith had already made their minds up, so John was left to frantically try to come up with something, which was uniformly responded to with two “no”s and a “sure.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert thrust his head into their room, “Hey, the others want to go to the little cafe across the street for breakfast, yeah?” Everyone nodded their consent and Keith hurried to finish dressing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The cafe was endowed with the special kind of overpriced refinery that absolutely enraptured people like Jimmy and Pete. To the middle-class social climber, nothing was quite so euphoric as a mirage of elegance and taste. People like Roger and the Brummies, workers, had a much harder time appearing restrained and genteel, biasing towards ostentatious extravagance as proof of their success, desperately shouting into the void that </span>
  <em>
    <span>they had made it, </span>
  </em>
  <span>despite everything. Jonesy was enjoying his omelette. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you guys want to do today?” Robert asked around a mouthful of muffin. He insisted on patronizing the grab-n-go area of the hotel’s free breakfast service before they went, “No need to spend $60 on me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s a nice antique car exhibition. At noon.” Roger’s eyes lit up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We want to go to Disneyland.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to go to the beach.” Jonesy asked Jimmy what he wanted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um, Disneyland.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, really.” Robert seemed uncomfortable that his band mate could see through his lover so well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, actually, there’s this little art exhibition/open poetry thing at an occult bookstore/ coffee shop, that seemed kind of nice.” Jonesy snorted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seems tailor-made for you, then, donnit?” Jimmy nodded, smiling, before Robert cleared his throat and he looked around the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, I don’t think any of you guys would really enjoy it, and I want to spend the day with you all.” He sounded a little unsure, but the spirit was there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aww. That’s why I won’t go to that car show for more than an hour.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I won’t drag you all to watch me die trying to surf.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you Keith.” Robert paused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I still want to go to Disneyland.” Everyone sighed. Robert turned to Jimmy and put on a pouty voice. “C’mon Pagey, you owe me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- guys? Do you want to go to Disneyland?” Pete rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It seems like we don’t have much of a choice.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>And so, they all piled into the van and made their way down to the happiest place on earth. Jonesy and Roger spent the entire process of buying passes neurotically tracking everyone, particularly Robert and Pete, as the gates of Disneyland were apparently the human trafficking capital of the world. Jimmy tried to reassure them that Robert was an adult who could take care of himself. Jonesy asked if he’d ever met him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they were within the park, it became apparent that </span>
  <em>
    <span>they </span>
  </em>
  <span>looked like human traffickers. The eight adult men wandering around Disneyland quickly attracted a great number of stares. The judgement and fear was a little intense, but they tried not to care. Eventually though, they had to split up. Apparently, last month was the grand opening of a new land, Bear Country. Robert and Keith were enthused, but everyone else were a bit put off by the crowds that came with the new attractions. Robert and Keith managed to drag John and Jimmy off with them, and everyone else agreed to meet them in Tomorrowland Terrace for lunch (that restaurant has since been replaced by the far superior Cosmic Ray’s Starlight Cafe, hosted by the one and only Mr. Sonny Eclipse). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Over in bear country, Robert was positively giddy to see the pavement go from gray to maroon, indicating that they had reached the new land. He insisted on reading the sign aloud, although no one would stop to listen, so all they heard was “Welcome to Bear Country, a honey of a place since ‘72- ohmygod Jimmy that’s this year!” He loved the mysterious snoring sounds, the 25 cent Bathhouse, the mile bar, and the arcade. The highlight was during the Country Bear Jamboree, when Jimmy ventured to place his feather-light hand upon Robert’s knee. Keith never got over the initial disappointment of the mile bar only selling ice cream, and the other two really wished they had taken a child so people would stop looking at them like that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, they tired of Bear Country, and went to go see the rest of Frontierland. Robert insisted on riding the pack mules, but John and Keith decided to catch up with the other two later. Jimmy was less than thrilled about the pack mules, but he convinced himself to endure it- but only because he loved Robert, and definitely not because he expected to be paid back with sexual favors and/or thought the mules were kind of cute or anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>John and Keith went to Tom Sawyer Island, laughed at the part of the sign that says “Welcum,” and then decided that there were no adventures to be had in Frontierland. That was until they saw the Conestoga Wagon departing. Keith noticed John preoccupied. He tried to come up with a clever joke based on the oxen that pulled the thing, but then he realized how slowly the wagons moved, and how big they were, and how the employees manning them were mentally exhausted from smiling all day, as well as physically exhausted from a long hard day driving the oxen, and how easy would it be to hijack one of those things?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Roger and Pete had immediately rushed to Tomorrowland. Pete was so dead-set on riding Space Mountain, he wouldn’t stop for any reason short of a sudden coma. As they stood in line, he bounced on the balls of his feet like a child, and Roger fought the urge to ask Pete for an explanation. He knew that there was some long, eloquent backstory which he really didn’t care to hear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Once we’re done with this, what else do you want to do?” Pete cocked his head like a parrot. Aw. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Done? Roger, when my great great sixth uncle died,” oh here we go, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>promised </span>
  </em>
  <span>him that I would honor his memory by riding Space Mountain until the sun went down. If you want to do something else, that’s fine. This is my mission, and I will not be dissuaded, no matter the skill of the temptress.” Roger thought about that throughout the entire line. Did he love Pete enough to ride Space Mountain six times, each time with an hour long line? Would he feel guilty slipping away, catching up with a couple of the others? Luckily, he had a long time to ponder, while Pete worked himself up into a lather every time the line moved forward even a fraction. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John and John had a whole day ahead of them. Bonzo’s only real desire was one of those comically large turkey legs, which they decided to get for dinner because the optics of one of those things at nine in the morning were not ideal. Jonesy barely seemed to notice they were there. What was there to do? As the two meandered around Tomorrowland, they spotted an attraction called “The Skyway,” which appeared to consist of a large orange bucket full of people, suspended on a zip line. Why not?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jimmy was not having a great time on the pack mules. They were slow, they smelled awful, and it was genuinely starting to seem like this was all they would have time to do before meeting everyone for lunch. Plus, the Nature’s Wonderland scenery was grating. There are only so many animatronic critters a man can look at before the rickets set in, the rickets being a horrible alteration of the brain. Just as the whimsical rock formations started to inject intrigue into the journey via faux danger, Jimmy was starting to twitch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert had also dimmed severely in the past- </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, how long had it been? Fifteen minutes? An hour? Sixty years?</span>
  </em>
  <span> There was no way of knowing. Robert didn’t appear to be much happier than Jimmy. The metaphorical plant had wilted. Jimmy laughed at his own pun, like a fucking loser. He sarcastically shouted, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having fun?” This spooked the mule, and it bucked. Jimmy firmly grasped the reins and tried to soothe the animal, but he was generally unskilled as a calming presence. It kept hopping up on its hind legs, and he had to madly scrabble for purchase on its thick, fly-bitten neck. As the mule continued to buck, Jimmy could only squeeze his eyes shut and hold on for dear life. Time slowed, and James Patrick was relegated to its pitiful captive, his continual life entirely at the mercy of the whims of chance, which he as an astrology buff understood was a cruel, cruel mistress. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If this is how I have my tragic young artist death, I’m going to haunt every fucking art historian -</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert looked back to tell Jimmy that, while somewhat underwhelmed, he was in fact having a lovely time. It turned out that Jimmy had seen some appealing side trail, and had managed to instruct his mule to hop down it. Robert grinned, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I told him he’d have fun</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Show-off!” He shouted good-naturedly before turning his head back to the trail ahead. He threw one of his bracelets by the wayside, so Jimmy could navigate back to the main trail once he was done. A few minutes passed before he heard some commotion. He gently spurred his mule onward, only to see a Conestoga wagon undergoing some sort of mutiny! Aw, it seemed that, to add drama and intrigue to their ride, the park had established a new “outlaw bandit” section. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Robert cupped his hands around his mouth. “Keith! John! Is that you?” They turned around. It was, in fact, his dear friends. Oh no, all the guests on the wagon thought it was an act! What were they even trying to do? What gains were there? Why did people like John and Keith and Pete and Jimmy always have to throw the world into discord? What on earth was wrong with the established order of things? Why would you just randomly sleep with a-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, what could he do about the wagon? It seemed like its regular driver didn’t mind. And those oxen could probably trod that path in their sleep. There was nothing to worry about. It was going to be fine. Having their attention still, Robert merely waved at them and bade his animal keep moving. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the day wore on, Jonesy noticed that his companion wasn’t having any fun. In fact, it seemed the vacation day was stressing him out more than the entire course of their homicide investigation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, is everything all right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jesus Christ he fucking flinched. “</span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh, yeah, I’m great.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” They were on the submarine now. He had been fine until that animatronic squid appeared. “You’re gripping the handrail pretty tight.” Bonzo’s knuckles were white. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah baby, everything’s fine.” He insisted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so.” That reminded him of a different suspicious thing. “Honey?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened with you and Keith that first day you were looking for a hotel?” John panicked a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why? What did he tell you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter what he told me, I want the truth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you care though?” Now this was getting frustrating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you want to tell me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can we not argue at Disneyland? I feel like that’s kind of gauche.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened in Randy’s house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby don’t cause a scene.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am fucking whispering. Just tell me what happened, I won’t even get mad. Promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s what people say before they get ma-” he stopped speaking and froze as the squid returned. Maybe he was afraid of squids or something. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to know what’s going on with you. Please.” He was trying </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>hard to be patient, he really was. And it was so hard to have a serious argument in a beautiful, whimsical submarine attraction. Bonzo lowered his voice further, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you really want to know, we can talk about the last couple days once we get off this thing.” Jonesy only nodded, and put in a Herculean effort trying to enjoy the remainder of the ride. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I FEEL SO ALIVE!” Pete staggered out of Space Mountain, apparently unable to keep his enthusiasm to himself. Roger smiled at him like a fondly exasperated mother. The ride was indeed fun, but he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to waste his entire day on it. There was so much to see and do, and Roger wasn’t certain if he’d ever be back. He looked over at Pete. Pete didn’t need him, but he needed himself. Roger decided that today was his hot girl summer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll catch up with you later, Swordfish.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He bounded through the park, feeling the warm air and soaking up the good vibrations around him. Robert had helped him master the delicate art of what he called “emotional photosynthesis,” which Roger called “basic human empathy but with glitter.” Roger allowed himself to drift with the crowds, not getting in any lines or participating in any structured activity, but merely existing in the aura of excitement and joy emitted by the populace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was, until someone grabbed him. He spun around to see a distressed young woman.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why aren’t you in costume?” She demanded through her teeth. The corporate-mandated smile had begun to resemble a deathly grimace more than anything on this poor girl’s face. Roger stared at her blankly, and exhausted her patience enough that she yanked him into a Cast Members’ Lounge without further questioning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger was used to being confused, so he was well-prepared for this moment. The young woman- Brittany, if her name tag was to be believed- was speaking very quickly to him. Apparently, a blond called Jacob was on his first week at the job, he looked somewhat similar to Roger, and he had decided not to come to work today. Roger wanted to go enjoy his day, but he enjoyed having a purpose, especially if a teenage girl screamed it at him. So he bravely put on his little hat and his smile, and he prepared to take orders at the Tomorrowland Terrace. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy had fallen off his mule. That suede bastard. He stumbled to his feet and whipped his fluffy little head about, trying to find the trail. He hadn’t seen most of the journey; gripping onto the animal like a tick clinging to some poor singer’s thigh for dear life had taken up the majority of his attention. It didn’t help that every direction looked exactly the same, and Disney had dug a ten-foot-deep hole in the earth for Nature’s Wonderland so that the rest of the park wasn’t visible from within. But, Jimmy figured, it couldn’t be a very large pit, right? Land in Anaheim was expensive; the artificial desert couldn’t last long. So, if he just kept walking in one direction, he’d find a border. Whether the uncooked breadsticks that constituted Jimmy’s arms could haul all one hundred pounds of him up a sheer cliff remained to be seen, but he had no better option. Besides, with such a small area and so many guests and modes of transportation, the odds were high that Jimmy would run into an employee who could help him. Unfortunately, by that same logic, his mule would probably live to see another day, with which Jimmy was spiritually unsatisfied. But, hey, that’s life on the prairie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow, the walk through Nature’s Wonderland slowed time even more than Jimmy’s mule, who he had taken to thinking of as a manifestation of the metaphysical concept of evil. The heat was stifling, and it didn’t help that Jimmy’s head and body were clothed almost entirely in black. He had to shuck off his beautiful cashmere so as to not die of heat stroke. Tying it around his waist, Jimmy plodded on. He paused momentarily, leaning on a rock to catch his breath. As Jimmy looked up, he noticed an animatronic owl staring at him smugly, just because it had a home, a purpose, a team of people dedicated to its maintenance and well-being. Fuck that owl. He punched it, and the pain shot through his hand, up into his arm and shoulder like a searing needle at lightning speed. Stumbling away, now limping from a fall off of a mule and clutching a hand that seemed to have been broken or sprained by a fucking owl, Jimmy wondered what he had done wrong to lead him to this moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert turned his mule in and began to trot out of Nature’s Wonderland. He considered waiting for Jimmy, but he didn’t. Now that he had seen Bear Country, he decided to go to the most lauded attraction from the World Fair, The Carousel of Progress. Making the long journey from Frontierland to Tomorrowland with a song in his heart and a bounce in his step, Robert arrived rather soon. As he lept on the ride, he noticed that there were only four other passengers. That was odd. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the ride progressed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>great pun, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Robert’s enthusiasm was bleached out of him like pigment from bones in a desert. By the Wild West segment, he hardly even had the heart to finish the jingle. “There’s a great big beautiful tomorrow!” The announcer yelled. “And tomorrow is just a dream away.” Robert replied half-heartedly. He suddenly realized how slowly the ride was moving, how boring it was to watch the same ageless animatronic family tell him about technological advances in consumer goods throughout American history, how lonely he was. He wished he had waited for Jimmy, or at least met up with another person. He looked around at the empty theatre around him. There was a family, two parents and a bored child, and then one man. He fixated upon the lone man. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>other</span>
  </em>
  <span> lone man. His beard was long, the color of bourbon, slightly darker than his tawny hair. Robert couldn’t make out his eyes, but the light bounced off of them like dull, flat stones. He had those dead shark eyes that one gets used to in show business, and yet never ceased to be harrowing. Robert wondered what had gone wrong in this man’s life to lead him to this time, this place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert realized, with a shock, that he might look the same way to the stranger. He figured himself infinitesimally more attractive than that man- or at least that’s what he had been told- and yet, what really was the difference? What had gone wrong for the stranger that hadn’t for Robert? If he looked at his own eyes, would they be so dull and lifeless? Was the stranger another man entirely, with his own set of baggage, or were the colors of their souls the same? Then he saw the man put his feet up on the seat in front of him, and realized that they were entirely different. The stranger was naught but a barbarous curr, unlike Robert, who was the epitome of sophistication. He hoped. This put his mind at rest, allowing his attention to pivot once more to the ageless animatronic family, who seemed to be glitching out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their words started repeating, skipping around, worsening in general. Heads twitched. For a minute Robert looked around, glad to see that the other guests were equally horrified. Then the voice of a pimply employee (</span>
  <em>
    <span>cast member, they’re called cast members</span>
  </em>
  <span>) came on the loudspeaker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, you will be viewing this particular scene twice.” </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>John Entwistle was in over his head. He didn’t know how to lead a Conestoga wagon, or what enjoyment he could even gain from the experience. Goddamned Keith. Whatever, they were in it now, and they had to follow the adventure to the bitter end. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the Johns traipsed around Tomorrowland, they searched for a quiet, isolated place. They found a ride that was essentially empty, went very slowly, and didn’t have a single thrill. The People Mover, aptly named. They clambered on, at least four seats away from every one of the six other people who were so sad and/or ignorant that they were on The People Mover. As the ride skyrocketed all the way to seven savage miles per hour, the narrative unfolded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Keith and I went to our first hotel as soon as you guys got out of the van. We went to ‘look at’ the hot tub, and I swear to you we just spent the whole day there. There was so much second hand weed in the air, I think we forgot that time existed or something.” Bonzo knew he was a terrible liar, and he wasn’t lying- except by omission- so he wasn’t surprised that Jonesy seemed to believe him. And yet, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened on the roof?” He froze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did Keith tell you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened on the roof?” John said more quietly this time. Bonzo gulped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How does he know about the roof? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“There. . . There were these birds.” Apparently Jonesy hadn’t been expecting that. He cocked his head to the right a little bit and furrowed his eyebrows, the way he did on the rare occasions that he had been caught off guard. Fucking adorable. “We were on the roof and there were birds. They. . . We thought they might appreciate something to eat, but, there apparently wasn’t enough of it. So they fought.” Now his companion was leaning in very slightly, intrigued and now somewhat perturbed. “It was horrific. There was blood. Everywhere. And the feathers just flew. That’s when we left to pick you lot up.” There was a pause. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that all?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” They were quiet for a minute. Actually, it was probably only a few seconds, but it felt like a minute because they were on The People Mover. Bonzo waved as he saw Pete in line for Space Mountain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Keith told me,” he froze up again as Jonesy started to speak. What the fuck, Keith? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please don’t know about the crack please don’t know about the crack please don’t- “</span>
  </em>
  <span>that you two also had a blunt up there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, uh, yeah? I mean, I figured that part was probably inferred.” That got a laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right. I assume you still don’t want to talk about Randy’s house?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d really rather not ruin the day, no.” They got closer, and then realized with horror that they were going to be on The People Mover for another ten minutes. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They would be viewing that particular scene twice. Okay. Robert didn’t mind. Truth be told, he hadn’t been paying that much attention the first time. That was okay. He didn’t even mind the scene. It was probably the most interesting scene out of all of them, which was a position not unlike the patch of paint which dried the quickest. But the scene seemed to be. . . Melting? The movements were glitching even more now, the lips didn’t sync up with the audio, it sort of smelled like smoke? Robert didn’t like the way the animatronic daughter kept looking at him, glassy, oversaturated eyes peering into his very heart. Come to think of it, all the animatronics looked like that, as if they were supernatural beings trying far too hard to look human. Their blushes were too bright, their hair perfectly set in a way not even Jimmy could achieve. Robert shuddered, a chill seeping into his very marrow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he felt a hand fall upon his barely-clothed shoulder, he could hardly resist letting out a scream. He spun around in his seat to find the bearded stranger from before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uhm what? Do you want?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it just me,” he had a thick German accent, as if today wasn’t confusing enough, “or is there smoke coming out of one of the other scenes?” Robert looked, and sure enough, that’s where the scent of smoke was coming from. He flashed the German a look of concern, trying to affirm his panic. The father of the family in the other corner asked the two of them if they had any idea what was going on. Evidently, his wife and daughter were scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the scene played through its third time, the employee on the speaker tried to assure them that everything was fine, the imagineers were just recalibrating the ride, and then it would all be alright. Robert tried very hard to believe this. In the meantime, the other four guests had consolidated around his seat. He didn’t know if that was down to the primal instinct of ‘safety in numbers,’ or so they could have a human shield in case the animatronics became violent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The poor kid was terrified. Her parents were putting in a valiant effort to soothe her, but that must have been cold comfort from two people who were near as scared as she was. Children naturally look to adults for stability and security; what was this poor little girl to do when the adults were just as uncertain and scared as herself? He tried to smile at her, waiting for the girl to look at him in between sobs, but she didn’t move her head from her mother’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert almost wished he too had someone there to hold him. Jimmy would do that, were he here, instead of exploring Nature’s Wonderland, role-playing a rugged naturalist. Had they gone together, by this point Jimmy would probably be all the way wrapped around him, convinced that death was imminent. Robert wanted to believe that he would valliently protect him, but he somehow doubted it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>How could anyone protect me from- from this? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Even Keith had to admit, things had gone awry. After a truly inspiring struggle, the cast members had managed to regain control of the wagon, and now he and John were sitting in the back of it, hanging their heads in shame. All the guests kept looking back at them, curious. It seemed they were starting to doubt whether the hijacking was scripted and rehearsed. Keith became hyper aware of the unrealistic clothes, the visible lack of a plan, the sloppy fighting. He looked over at John, whose face was stuck in a Batman-worthy glower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John.” He whispered. No response. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>John</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He stage-whispered this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think. . . We’re not going to get in trouble for this, are we?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith we hijacked a fucking-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>There are children!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Keith hissed, self-righteous. John only rolled his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We hijacked a </span>
  <em>
    <span>freaking </span>
  </em>
  <span>wagon, of course we’re going to get in trouble. We always get in trouble. We’ve never spent more than a week out of trouble.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but, they’re just going to throw us out, right? The others aren’t going to have to bail us out of jail, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sounds like a question to ask before you hijack a Disney ride.” Just as Keith’s stomach was starting to sink, the Conestoga wagon reached the bridge out of Nature’s Wonderland. The ride was over, now they could only await judgement. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonesy was frustrated; Bonzo was having an awful time, and he simply refused to communicate why. By now, they’d both spent a long day walking around, in the heat, with no spending money for food or anything. They figured it must be pretty close to lunch, and made their way back to Tomorrowland. Jonesy kept trying to come up with something to say. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having fun?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” There was a pause. Goddamnit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why won’t you tell me why you’re so upset?” Bonzo’s next sentence was accompanied by a heavy sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- it’s not. . . Why do you need to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because it feels like a waste of money if we spend all day here miserable!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I’m sorry for being such a bummer.” Jonesy was ready to rip his hair out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not mad that you’re upset,” he tried to keep his voice even, he didn’t want them to be the kind of couple that argue at Disneyland, “I just want to help you, but I can’t do that if you don’t tell me what’s wrong. So what is wrong?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t you like to know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I think that it’s very mysterious and sexy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah Bonzo, because you’re the only one with a secret.” That elicited a scoff. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a dark secret?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just might.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you put recycling in a trash can once? You told a waitress ‘You too!’ when she told you to enjoy your meal? You-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I,” Jonesy cut Bonzo off, and then made him wait a beat or two before finishing, because he was the alpha, “was the infamous right-tire burglar.” He let that sit for a minute, moving his chin up slightly. Bonzo was visibly perplexed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The infamous right-tire burglar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I heard you. I just- explain?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When I was a boy, my father- acclaimed concert pianist and arranger Joe Baldwin- was in a band, and thus travelled frequently.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Weird way to start, please go on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thus, when I was young, I went to a quasi-elite boys’ boarding school, run by the Catholic Church.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Even weirder, now I’m concerned.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To survive, one could be neither mild-mannered nor kind. I adapted. There were innumerable shenanigans, antics, and the like which I took a trivial role in, so as to never be on the receiving end. But the only hi jinx I ever participated in off my own volition,” Jonesy knew he was perhaps embellishing it, but if he had to spend four hours trying to coax a tragic backstory from John, he was allowed to indulge once, “was my brief stint as the infamous right-tire burglar.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still haven’t told me what that is.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All in good time, my child.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m only two and a half years younger than you, twat.” He chose not to address that, instead pulling them into the unusually short line for America Sings. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At any rate, one mellow English afternoon, I found myself standing in the faculty parking lot, running an errand for a teacher. And, I still don’t entirely know why, but I got it into my head to cause a problem. So, I decided to remove my teacher’s tires.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” Now Bonzo was listening raptly; wonderful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There were tools in his trunk, and he had given me his keys to go fetch something he had forgotten.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you took his tires?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, as I prank infrequently, I prefer to dabble in a unique brand of psychological warfare. It’s like when you pick on someone for a non-existent flaw.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, like if I bullied you for having tiny nipples, you might start thinking of your nipples in a totally different way, all because of me. I would have given you an entirely new insecurity”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Jones.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, to survive an elite boys’ boarding school takes a level of humanity out of you. Anyway, as I took his front right tire off, I decided that it would be stranger to take only the right ones. And then, I suppose I was really ‘in the zone’ or something, because by the time I realized what I was doing, I had taken the right tires off of every car in the parking lot, and had piled them across the exit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?” Bonzo whispered, apparently not wanting to corrupt the children or whatever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, everybody was very confused. And, being as low-profile as I was, apparently not a single person noticed that I was missing for ninety minutes.” Jonesy tried not to sound bitter about that last bit. “So, that caused quite a stir. And from then, I was hooked. Every time when we were able to go into town, I found a new parking lot, usually behind a theatre or someplace people left all at once, and I removed all the right tires. I became quicker and more proficient every time, so the operations became more and more daring as time progressed.” He let that sink in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did they ever catch you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. They knew it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>from the school, but looking for a troublemaker in an elite boys’ boarding school is like looking for a specific tree in a forest. And, again, no one suspected sweet, quiet, mild-mannered John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that where that thing started?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What ‘thing’?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, where you look all innocent and quiet and stuff, but. . . “</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you insinuating something about me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I’m not. Tell me what happened to the Infamous Right-Tire Bandit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually it was burglar, but in retrospect, bandit sounds way better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you came up with the name yourself?” Jonesy paused, mildly embarrassed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tried to get the newspaper to call me that, with a few anonymous letters about the public menace, but it never really caught on.” Bonzo chuckled, and Jonesy congratulated himself. And then they got on the ride, and John froze up again. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck is going on? What secrets do you hide? </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Jimmy staggered into the whimsical human-shaped cacti, he could feel his arms roasting like his soul allegedly would some day. He steadied himself against one of the animatronic cacti, and tried to steal its cowboy hat. He couldn’t jump high enough. Damnit. Jimmy reached for his good luck necklace. It was an authentic Roman talisman, one of the winged phalluses they used to wear. Bonzo (among others) could call it “gay” as much as they wanted, but he knew it worked. So if he gave it a nice, special squeeze- which he’d been told he was very skilled at- he knew the wings of Jupiter would sweep him to safety. No homo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he saw a lemonade stand, beckoning, manned by the vague silhouette of a woman, tall and slim, with flowing curls. As he approached, he realized that he was looking at a female version of himself. He hated to admit how much more attractive she was than himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jimmy thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>if you fuck another version of yourself, is that, like, incest or masturbation? Because damn. . . Maybe I </span>
  </em>
  <span>should</span>
  <em>
    <span> go see someone. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He then realized that this was but a mirage, brought on by the vaguely human-shaped cacti, fatigue, and dehydration. He recalled Robert always nagging him about water consumption, and quietly longed for a time when such an argument could be so petty, so charming and sweet. Jimmy also realized that had he simply done the- very easy- task which Percy asked of him, he wouldn’t be in nearly as much danger. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jimmy was not going to let himself die so Robert could win an argument. He was going to power through. He’d survived an infection, malnourishment, shattered hands, wounded pride, and a delicate enough immune system to be the envy of any fragile romantic heroine; he refused to let his tragic death come in Disneyland. He squeezed the winged phallus once more, and trudged on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At some point, Jimmy ran up against the wall. He knew that this would happen. After a few truly pitiful attempts to climb out, which he assured himself were only impossible because the right side of his body appeared to be broken, he finally sat down in the dust. Jimmy refused to let himself weep, but the despair was gripping him, like a cold fist around his spine. God, he wished he could feel physically cold, rather than figuratively. Sadly, he was only a B-tier poet at best by that point. The smallest blessing, the curtain of hair framing his face was nearly enough to keep the cruel, unforgiving sun out of his eyes. He tried to come up with a plan. He should have run up against the mule trail, right? That should have led him out of this nightmare of a theme park attraction. That meant that he was totally lost. Beautiful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, the walls enclosed the entire operation, right? So, if he just followed the wall for a while, he’d eventually brush up against an entryway to civilization. Or, at least, an employee would find him, and kindly escort him back to the world, where he imagined the other seven were all anxiously waiting, weepy with dread. Maybe one or two of them were regretting taking him for granted. Hopefully one of the prettier ones had fallen ill with worry, and had taken to his bed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy abruptly pulled himself out of the Jane Austen/Edgar Allen Poe crossover fanfic that had become his worldview, got up, and limped along, never more than a few feet from the wall. He braved the wild like a rugged naturalist, and had already determined that he would emerge from this venture considerably more masculine. And hungry. And scared. He was probably going to do something romantic. His first impulse was to dip Robert like in an old film, but as he noticed his strength dwindling, he settled for collapsing in his arms. In a masculine way. He’d figure it out by the time he got there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Jimmy did find an exit. He assumed his eyes were playing tricks on him again, but there it was. He looked both ways before scrambling up onto the terrace holding up the train tracks. It was a long, complicated process. He didn’t weigh very much, but his arms had all the strength of wet paper in best health, now one of them appeared to be sprained. Jimmy, missing Robert’s optimism, decided to view this as a real accomplishment that he was able to hoist himself up onto the tracks at all. As he staggered into the reception area for Nature’s Wonderland, Jimmy added a bit of a cocky swagger to his agonized, pathetic limp. He had been beaten and betrayed by Mother Nature, and had come out stronger for it on the other side. He was only waiting for the naturalist film they would surely make on his behalf. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By this point, Jimmy Page had become so delusional that his mind refused to register the heat, the pain, or the sound of the train barreling towards him. He was so out of it, that he nearly tried to fight the employee who yanked him off the tracks within a hair’s breadth of his demise. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roger had no idea how difficult service work was</span>
  <span>. He didn’t understand why everyone was so </span>
  <em>
    <span>mean </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him. It wasn’t his fault they were out of milkshake lids, or that the lines were long, or that it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>hot out. </span>
  </em>
  <span>What did these people expect from an outdoor theme park in California in June? When there were issues with the restaurant, he at least saw why they went to the pick-up area. But the weather? </span>
  <em>
    <span>The weather?! </span>
  </em>
  <span>He couldn’t control that! Literally nobody was responsible for the whims of nature!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s when Roger realized something about human nature. These people didn’t want him to fix their problems, they just wanted their ire to be acknowledged and validated. So that’s what he did. It was all he could do to keep his own explosive temper at bay. That and the other cast members. They patiently reminded him of the stupid, arbitrary rules, and for his part, he tried his damndest to respect them. When he had to point at something, he did it with two fingers. He smiled so much that his temples started to hurt. He listened and nodded, pantomiming sincerity with the skill of an influencer apology video, while being berated with horror stories of long lines, screaming children, overpriced foodstuffs, Abbie Hoffman, everything under the blazing sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the day wore on, Roger started sorting guests. Some of them, it was evident, went here frequently, and could afford to do so. That implied a certain degree of financial security which tended to result in entitlement. Thus, one would expect the annual guests to be the worst. And they were awful, certainly. But the others were often even ruder, as the trip was far more stressful for them. They had to go about their day with the knowledge weighing on them of just how much money they had spent on this, which seemed to hurry them to squeeze as much enjoyment as possible out of the excursion. So while they weren’t quite as entitled to perfect service as their wealthier counterparts, they were usually working on a much shorter temper. And the restaurant food </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>ridiculously overpriced, so that didn’t help. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tried to keep putting one foot in front of the other. He trusted the others to tell him when his break would be. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just one more customer, just one more customer. </span>
  </em>
  <span>That got him through the first 150 minutes. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>As John and Keith were escorted to the goat pen to await prosecution, they saw Jimmy Page trotting out of the first aid office alone, with a brace on each of his right limbs. He looked to be Dazed and Confused. John congratulated himself for the pun or whatever that was. When Jimmy caught sight of them, he decided to head in their direction. The security team didn’t seem to notice him slipping in. As the smell of goats hit him, he was taken aback for a moment, before proceeding towards them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having fun with the goats?” There was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>off </span>
  </em>
  <span>about his voice. But John couldn’t put a finger on it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Keith helpfully clarified, “we’re waiting for security to decide whether to call law enforcement or just throw us out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t sound good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, although, we figured you’d be kinda mad or something.” Jimmy only shrugged at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, when you see what man is really made of, how powerless he is in the face of the true natural world, you cease to care about such petty things.” Keith and John exchanged a glance. It’s not like they didn’t approve of Jimmy’s new enlightenment or whatever, but- actually, they sort of did. They had enough of that coming from Robert and Roger, they needed his determined cynicism and rage to tie the whole operation together. If Jimmy wasn’t angrily micromanaging everything, they would just waste another vacation getting high and rigging snail races. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, because we also totaled all your cards.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s-” Jimmy displayed a moment of concern, before lapsing back into enlightened-mountain-man, “I mean, I don’t really </span>
  <em>
    <span>need </span>
  </em>
  <span>that much money.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We also burned all of your nice clothing.” It didn’t make any sense, but apparently Keith figured that Jimmy was beyond the bounds of logic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh- well- I have a whole bunch left in Britain, I’ll be okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And your guitars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“WHAT- I mean, um,” he was close to breaking, they could tell, “yeah, sure, it’s happened before, I can get another.” John tried to figure out what the last straw would be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also Robert ran away with Peter Grant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- I mean, it’s, he’s, okay then, ah,” Keith looked over and grinned at him. They had brought the real, mean Jimmy back from the dead, “I’m going to fucking kill them both!” They did it!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was just kidding, Jim.” Jimmy was pacing angrily, because apparently they’d given him enough painkillers that he couldn’t feel whatever happened to his leg. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You lied to me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t fucking-” words apparently failed him, so he let out a strangled cry. “And now you idiots are going to get arrested? And </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to have to bail you out?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You could. Or, you could just un-handcuff us and we could slip away to lunch.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert clutched the German. There was a fire now, bluer than the night and so hot it was almost cool. The employee frantically tried to assure them that the exit systems would be back in working order “lickity split”, but no one believed him. The sprinklers didn’t reach the scene, where the real fire was, probably so they wouldn’t break the animatronics further. He and the others had crowded together in the back row, all the men in front of the woman and child. The fire had reached the creepy little girl animatronic, and she somehow maintained direct eye contact with him even as her plastic eyeballs melted out of her face. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Jonesy and Bonzo wandered out of America Sings, Jonesy noticed that Bonzo was somehow worse now. He was clearly trying not to tremble, but his hands were shaking. But before Jonesy could once more start the tiresome non-conversation they’d been having about this all day, the two noticed smoke pouring out of the Carousel of Progress. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Bonzo whispered, “isn’t that the one Robert wanted to ride?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god it is.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t think. . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s entirely possible that he dragged Jimmy on that thing with him and now they’re both in serious danger.” They exchanged a look. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The girl child had spotted a fire extinguisher, and her father managed to put out the part of the fire that they could see from the scene they were stuck on. This was met with raucous applause, but everyone was still rattled. There was still smoke trickling out of the other scene, and the room was significantly hotter than it should be. Robert tried to focus on the positive, tried to be thankful that there wasn’t a huge crowd and that there was adequate ventilation, but he was scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid told everyone to stop, drop, and role, before the German helpfully snapped back that none of them were on fire. Yet. Robert tried to deescalate, and got called a dumb hippy for his troubles. It seemed to work though, and the whole group resigned themselves to silence, waiting for whatever was to come. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bonzo knew what they were doing was insane, but they had to risk it. Even if Robert and Jimmy weren’t in there, </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone</span>
  </em>
  <span> was, and it looked like the employees were in over their heads with this one. Taking advantage of the chaos, the Johns snuck onto the ride. The two of them trod towards the smoke, through the barely illuminated hallway, As they headed through, following the track through the kitschy scenes, Bonzo froze. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Animatronics. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonesy had apparently noticed him stopping and turned around, exasperated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, come on, there’s no time to lose!” He tried his hardest to respond, but those </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span> were right there. “Babe, we have to hurry!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, I know, but. . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is going on with you?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s them!” He pointed at the scene. Jonesy looked back and forth before finally putting the peices together. And he was usually so smart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t be serious.” Bonzo didn’t say anything. “You’re scared of animatronics?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Scared is maybe the wrong word, I would say petrified.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You have a crippling phobia of animatronics, and you let me drag you around Disneyland all day?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” he tried to explain it, truthfully he didn’t know why he’d put himself through this anymore than Jonesy did, “all you guys looked really excited to go, and I didn’t want to-” his lover let out a frustrated noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey. Why-“ he looked towards the scenes. “We can discuss this later, okay? For now, you’re going to have to face it, yeah?” He tried to protest. “I know, it’s scary, but Robert and Jimmy need us. I can’t do it on my own. Okay?” He got closer, grasped the drummer’s hand. Bonzo took a deep breath, and tried to look straight forward, away from the robotic monstrosities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert was at the end of his rope when someone broke through the door between sections of the ride. It was Jonesy and Bonzo, here to rescue him like epic action heroes! He gasped, and ran to them, eager to hug another human being. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys came! How did you know I was in trouble?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Jonesy said while ushering the other guests toward the path of destruction that they had carved in their journey (Bonzo refused to let go of said man’s hand or speak), “we saw the smoke pouring out, and figured that you have a unique talent for getting yourself into dangerous situations.” Robert could have cried. In fact, he did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You guys,” he choked from around the ever-growing smoke whilst they fled, “are the best friends I could have ever asked for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, honey. Hey wait, where’s Jimmy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, he went on an excursion on a mule.” Jonesy sort of tossed his hands in the air, in equal parts defeat and humor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know what else I expected.” Robert had never noticed how warm his smile was. Crooked, yes, he was a true Brit, but there was a special sort of charm to it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eventually, they staggered out of the Carousel of Progress. While the denizens of the ride embraced weepily, Bonzo caught his breath, leaning against Jonesy, who did all in his power to bring him down from the brink of an anxiety attack. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Afraid of animatronics at Disneyland. That poor man. No wonder he was so evasive. </span>
  </em>
  <span>As the others departed and Robert bounced back to his band mates, they started the short walk to Tomorrowland Terrace for lunch. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, this one is split in two, because it’s longer than all the others combined (Yeah I know, I’m worried too).<br/>As always, and as I feel I have generally failed to articulate, feedback is how I thrive as a mediocre writer/comedienne, so don’t be a stranger.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Peter T. and the Great Space Mountain Adventure: Continued</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Pete was, if he was being honest, glad to take a break from Space Mountain. As his various friends showed up at Tomorrowland Terrace, he realized that he was genuinely, sincerely glad to see them. Robert and Jimmy were both escorted in by a rhythm section, one party smeared with soot and the other coated in dust. Those two immediately clung to one another, and neither seemed eager to speak for a while. As everyone settled into their seats, they realized that they were all waiting for Roger. As time went by, everyone started to worry about him, which meant asking Pete where he went, which meant Pete would have to explain to them that he spent the entire day on Space Mountain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, he heard it. The iconic Daltrey bellow, proclaiming that they had an order for Kaitlin up front. Pete quickly stood up and marched his little ass up to the pickup counter. “Kaitlin?” He asked without looking up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger?” That caught his attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete, what are you doing here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m here to fetch you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I don’t have time for this, okay? Corporate didn’t send us any milkshake lids, we just ran out of chicken strips in the middle of lunch rush, there’s a huge line, guests are getting rowdy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m sorry, do you work for Disneyland?” That puzzled the blond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamnit Roger, what have I told you about doing unpaid labor for giant corporations?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . To not do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“To not to! Now you are going to hop over that counter and come have lunch with the rest of us or so help me-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But they need me!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Disney company will be fine-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Brittany and Nick! They need my help! They think I’m their coworker, and they can‘t go on without me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither can we! Come on, you can go back to work after lunch if you really want to, just sit with us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But lunch is the busiest time!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it fair that whoever you’re replacing that he should be paid for a day he didn’t show up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He might have a legitimate reason! I don’t know him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger. Babe. What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am a loyal-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Literally just name your price. Do you want to go to that car show thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . Maybe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will take you there at the end of the day if you just have lunch with us.” He could practically see the wheels churning in Roger’s fluffy little head. With a look of self-loathing and defeat, he awkwardly ducked into the main restaurant portion, telling Pete to make sure they sat somewhere where his former comrades couldn’t see him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lunch was. . . a lot. It turns out, everyone but Pete had had a very traumatic morning. Pete tried to avoid talking about </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>day, because he was seemingly the only one who’d had a normal, fun time. Well, as normal as riding the same thing five consecutive times on the orders of a dead relative could be. Roger seemed to still carry some tremendous guilt for abandoning the other restaurant workers, which was sort of ironic considering how short-tempered he could be with service people. Bonzo was also very reluctant to talk about how his day was going. Keith and John, for their part, kept looking around, as if expecting to be followed, which really set a weird tone. The strangest, however, was the way Robert and Jimmy routinely lapsed into a silent state, staring intensely at one another. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbeknownst to Pete, Robert had suddenly been struck with a moment of pure poetic inspiration. He didn’t know if it was the stress or the heat, but he looked at Jimmy and a thousand metaphors for beauty and love came rushing into his mind, each apt and yet inadequate in their own way. And all he could do was succumb; as his mind rapidly sifted through each comparison, each frivolous thought that came to his head, the rest of the world seemed paltry and inadequate. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jimmy, beauty, elegance, romance, my cherub, my darkness, my light, my spring cherry, my fox in the snow, brightest star in the night of my life, the sea after a tempest, wooded horizon swallowing the evening sun- </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Percy, could you pass the salt?” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jimmy, cool breeze in a sweltering summer day, blotch of ink on the perfect white page of life, freshly cut grass, icicle, pineapple, unsweetened tea, curled up autumn leaf, smoky back room in the cheap bar of my heart, beaded curtain, cloves, nightingale, thimble, black swan floating on a crystal-clear lake of tears and perfume- </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Could you </span>
  <em>
    <span>please </span>
  </em>
  <span>pass the salt?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy too was fixated on his lover. After what had felt like eons of separation and agony, he couldn’t believe how he had grown to take Robert for granted. He had always been very self-righteous about others not appreciating him, but now he was starting to wonder how this walking talking ballad of a man was in love with him. Not only had he fallen for him, he had remained loyal after a laundry list of betrayals and a general lack of attracting factors. What was it? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was so gorgeous, too. He had that hair, like Golden Fleece, a treasure men would kill and die for, complemented by features perfectly carved as if by Pygmalion, those eyes, that clear gray that could be blue like a summer rain cleansing the air and the earth- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Jimmy, your order’s ready.” And that slinky, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sinful </span>
  </em>
  <span>figure, the kind of soft, understated muscles that come not from bodybuilding but actual, hard labor, his hands were so strong, and he was as flexible as all hell, and so easy to excite, so passionate about such a broad and confusing menagerie of things that he could go on about for hours, it was beautiful. </span>
  <em>
    <span>He </span>
  </em>
  <span>was beautiful. How could another ever be better? How could Jeff, Pete, Jonesy, anyone in the world even compare? It was like comparing candles to a wildfire, duck ponds to the ocean. “Jimmy, do you want to eat or not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go get your order. Oh, it would be really sweet if you could grab Roger’s too. He says looking at the pickup counter gives him shell shock.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” Pete shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t make the rules, doll.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He really is a doll, isn’t he?” Robert asked dreamily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, in between the broader conversation about past and future park-going experiences, Led Zeppelin’s rhythm section seemed to be planning something, almost entirely non-verbally. That was, until Keith looked over at them, “Hey, if anyone asks, we were with you guys all day, alright?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why would someone ask?” Keith tried to downplay it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, like, just in case they do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, if we’re going to be your alibi, you’d better tell us why.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We hijacked a wagon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John and Pete were trying to determine how they could spend the most of Jimmy’s money possible in the next few days, starting by ordering the entire menu at the restaurant, determined to lay it out as a bountiful banquet, enviable by the kings of old. Robert was all in for this idea, because he seemingly lived to find more and more elaborate ways to LARP mythical and historical figures. Roger, however, could only think of how much extra pressure and stress this would put on his poor friends, and he spent the rest of the meal with his arms crossed in front of his nightmarishly triangular torso, brow furrowed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert tried to ply him by asking for advice about a juice cleanse, and they soon fell into a heavy conversation about the risks and rewards, about dieting culture and beauty standards, hair care, all of it. It was like a cartoon caricature of a teenage girl’s sleepover. By the time Jimmy came back, they were both shaken out of their poetic stupor for a minute. And yet, when everyone was finishing their meals (the banquet only halfway through arriving), they started staring at each other again. Keith leaned into Bonzo and Jonesy and whispered, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they, you know, all right? In the head?” The other two shrugged, almost in perfect unison. “You know, the elevator goes to the top floor but the doors don’t open? The lights are on, but nobody’s home?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it possible,” Pete decided to speculate, “that they are communicating psychically?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean,” Bonzo answered, “it’s not impossible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But maybe we should keep thinking.” Jonesy honest to Christ finished his paramour’s sentence. The worst kind of PDA. Pete gagged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger suggested they shove the bill into Jimmy’s hand. That would yank him out of whatever psychic BDSM shit was going on. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When Jimmy was given the bill, Jonesy and Bonzo knew that chaos was the time to flee. They’d already planned to leave the park after lunch, hopefully returning just before everyone decided to leave, and now was their chance. As they bid everyone farewell, in loud voices that still couldn’t be heard over the chaos, the duo of Johns slipped out of Tomorrowland Terrace and dashed through the park as quickly as possible. Once they had reached the van, Bonzo and Jonesy just sat there for a moment, out of breath, trying to slow their heart rates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So where was that car show?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I’m in the driver’s seat, so you could just trust me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a horrifying thought.” Jonesy’s statement was laced with irony, so as not to offend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a long drive, but it felt like it. Jonesy kept sticking his head out of the window, like a dog. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to do that?” He didn’t hear him over the wind in his ears. Bonzo shouted, “John!” Jonesy put himself back into the van. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have to do that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if you get decapitated?” Jonesy only laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What a way to go.” He paused. “Anyway, if I do get decapitated, tell everyone that they disappointed me.” As he rolled the window down, Bonzo frowned slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does ‘everyone’ include me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course not.” He suddenly stopped being facetious. Rolling his window up with one hand, he tried to place the other on top of Bonzo’s on the steering wheel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m fi- I was just kidding.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you say so.” His head, thankfully, remained in the car for the rest of the ride, perched upon his drummer’s shoulder. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert managed to calm Jimmy down by offering to foot the bill himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Jimmy looked at him with genuine confusion, “I thought. . . You said I have to pay for everything?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah!” Pete goaded; apparently spending money until Jimmy burst a blood vessel was the only entertainment he had planned. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, it’s okay, I can just cover this one meal, it doesn’t have to be a big deal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Jimmy stood up, trying to be gallant about it, but bumping his knees on a table that was too short for the length of him, “Today I turn over a new leaf-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A new page, if you will,” Pete suggested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to fulfill my promise to you all, whether I like it or not. I am a new man now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Jimmy!” The restaurant burst into sarcastic applause. The Who looked at each other, and quietly ushered the other two outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the gang emerged from their lunch, Pete reluctantly said goodbye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Keith was confused, shocker, “why can’t you spend the day with us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I have to ride Space Mountain over and over again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No you don’t.” Robert offered helpfully. Pete heavily sighed, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You don’t understand.” Jimmy rolled his eyes and took the bait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please tell us your dramatic whatever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, since you asked,” Pete prattled on as they all followed him to Space Mountain. In the process of waiting in line, Roger suddenly noticed that their head count had decreased. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, what happened to Jonesy and Bonzo?” Everyone realized that they hadn’t noticed them departing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They must have left while we were talking about paying.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think they’re in trouble?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re probably just fucking in the bathroom or something.” Jimmy reasoned, apparently undisturbed by the crowds of children all around them. “We can catch up with them after the ride.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the end of Space Mountain, Robert and Keith put together a compelling case for Pete to stay out of a dead man’s shadow and enjoy his day, but he was unaffected. The tearful goodbye took a good fifteen minutes. After regrouping, the gang spent another half hour trying to find the other two Johns, before determining that they were off having fun without them. Dicks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger wanted to go to Frontierland, but that was too bad for him. Everyone else decided to head to Fantasyland, and he tagged along out of the deepset conformist spirit irrevocably branded into his soul by his short tenure at Tomorrowland Terrace. But on the way out of Space Mountain, the gang spotted a delightful looking ride: The People Mover! By abandoning them, Jonesy and Bonzo had unwittingly sentenced their friends to a fate worse than death: the people mover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they all piled on, Roger felt very much like a fifth wheel, and tried to decide whether to flirt with Robert or Keith. John and Jimmy were both capable of psychological violence, but only John was physically formidable as well. That said, Jimmy and Robert seemed to have bonded somehow, despite both spending their days alone. But, on the other hand, Robert was much nicer than Keith, and more likely to make him feel included, even if it wasn’t romantically. But, on a fifth or sixth hand, he already knew Keith- </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before he could decide, the ride started moving and he was yanked into John and Keith’s cart. They all settled in, and spent the entire first minute waiting for it to get interesting. Just as John and Roger started playing red hands over Keith’s lap, Robert decided to share his theory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, I really love this ride.” It was an innocuous comment, but everyone turned to look at him. Jimmy laughed, sounding rather like an evil stepmother character. Roger shook his head, trying to get the Disney training out of it. He saw Mickey Mouse whenever he closed his eyes. “What? I really admire their creative effort using methods of transportation as a sort of storytelling.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If only Pete were here.” Keith mused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, in Frontierland,” everyone groaned at that, “when you’re going by on a mule, and you see a train or a wagon passing by, I think it makes you feel like a part of the Wild West much more. And this, the people mover,” they all waved as they saw Pete in the line for Space Mountain, “I mean, it’s immersive! I really, truly feel like I’m taking public transport in a utopian future city.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, but aren’t there more interesting things to do in a utopian future city?” Jimmy reasoned, pretending to yawn so as to make his gross PDA socially acceptable, as if anyone was watching the small half-tribe of hippies on the goddamned People Mover. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably,” Robert conceded, “but there’s no way to make you feel like you’re actually a scientist or robot maid or whatever. Meanwhile, I am truly engaging with this ride, and it takes me through the entire fantasy. I don’t have to suspend much disbelief, or temper my expectations and meet it where it’s at. It brings me where I want to be.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just like the short line, don’t you?” Roger was good at seeing past artistic bullshit. Robert remained unabashed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That may influence it as well. Did you see how long that line was for Space Mountain? I endured it for Pete, but regularly, I wouldn’t wait ninety minutes for a heart transplant. I’d rather lay face down on the concrete, and simply let my imagination sweep me away to the heavenly bodies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can just ask me for a fast pass, baby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ooh, Robert’s got a sugar daddy!” Keith said it in the tone of a middle schooler, but in his defense, Jimmy’s hand had slid up considerably from its original spot on Percy’s knee. After a few more intense seconds of silence, Robert started another conversation entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can you believe Bonzo and Jonesy are missing out on this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’ll regret it when we tell them about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” the right corner of Jimmy’s lips started to quirk up, “I’m sure they’re very. . . Satisfied with what they did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you twelve?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do </span>
  <em>
    <span>they</span>
  </em>
  <span> even have sex?” Keith appeared to be genuinely confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re, you know, dating?” Roger answered as if it was obvious, because it was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>that, </span>
  </em>
  <span>but- I don’t know, they don’t seem like the kind of people that have sex.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding?” Robert and Jimmy both erupted in endless anecdotes and vague noises of disgust, which was a little hypocritical. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Literally all the time-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t leave them alone for five minutes-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like rabbits, honest to Christ-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It used to be really awkward because he’d walk all funny after, but I think now he’s just gotten used to it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One time, we were at a museum, and they went missing for, like, twenty minutes-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, I thought they just snuck into the basement to look at the secret vaults?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This other time, Jimmy took us all to a David Bowie concert so we could boo him, and they were in the loo </span>
  <em>
    <span>the entire time</span>
  </em>
  <span>-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I let them share a room at my house once, and after it was returned I made the mistake of taking a black light to it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like James Joyce and Nora Barnacle!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every fucking surface was coated-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One time all our car doors were locked, so Jimmy broke his hand trying to punch the window in, so I punched it and broke it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only ‘cause I cracked it first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure sweetling. Anyway, you’ll never guess who was in there, and what they were doing!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Literally the ceiling! How the fuck did they manage to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys!” Roger felt the need to say something. “We get the point, your entire musical group is composed of irrepressible sluts. Can you stop shouting about it?” They wilted a little. As Jimmy deflated, he slung his body across Robert’s in a melodramatic show of defeat, and a queasy silence brewed, allowing everyone to think over the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you guys know,” John broke the ice out of the blue, “that babies are born without knees? How does that make you feel?”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Taking Bonzo to a car exhibition was like watching My Little Pony with children. It was entertaining to watch him have fun, but mind-numbing in every other way. Really, Jonesy was surprised that his usually unreliable memory was like a sponge when it came to soaking up obscure makes and models, brands, years, and even mechanical elements. He could rattle off the most minute details of a car he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>years ago, but asking him to remember to find a hotel in the span of eight hours was too much. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having fun?” He decided not to be bitter, instead watching John be enthusiastic about something that couldn’t result in a lawsuit. Bonzo barely acknowledged him with a nod and half-muttered thanks before dragging him towards some shiny behemoth. Jonesy didn’t want to admit it, but a part of him enjoyed being yanked around by the strong, calloused hand wrapped around his wrist. Looking around a bit, he saw most enthusiasts accompanied either by virulently bored children or no one at all, with only the vast fields of unfeeling steel to accompany them. Jonesy couldn’t help but feel some strange pride, pity even, being the only consenting plus one, adrift in a sea of acrimony and despair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, Bonzo stopped by a specific car with a </span>
  <em>
    <span>different </span>
  </em>
  <span>look in his eye. Jonesy could hardly contain a groan; he wanted to buy it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John.” He softly said, trying to nip this obsession in the bud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just looking.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At the price tag.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know you love me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Irrelevant.” Bonzo didn’t say anything. “Baby, there’s nothing wrong with the van.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you fucking mental? Is there anything that </span>
  <em>
    <span>isn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong with the van?” Jonesy considered that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think that cute little Camero has enough room for eight of us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think that’s a Camero?” Jonesy just shook his head and fell back while Bonzo continued to meticulously inspect the vehicle. But, as he absentmindedly scanned the crowd, he noticed another young man looking at the car. The gears in his head started to turn. Jonesy beckoned the boy over. As he approached, Jonesy second guessed himself; there was a chance that he was looking at a girl too high to apply any makeup. But then the grinning youth decided to introduce himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, I’m Roger, do you own this beauty?” He was tall, almost as slim as Jimmy, with the long, barely maintained blond hair of any beach boy. Roger did have a British accent, however. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Jonesy turned what charisma he had up to eleven, “not yet.” Roger’s pretty little face fell.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve bought it?” This boy certainly wasn’t the brightest. Jonesy was thrilled; there was a good chance that his little plan would work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like I said, not quite yet. My associate,” he nodded towards Bonzo, having an intense discussion with the owner a few feet away, “is negotiating.” Roger looked resolute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry mate, I think I’ll have to outbid you.” Jonesy pretended to be worried, before smiling again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like a challenge.” He said it contemptuously, as if the deck was stacked against Roger. That had the expected effect of stoking Roger’s competitive spirit, and Jonesy trailed behind him as he strode over to Bonzo and the owner of the car. He watched gleefully as a bidding war ensued. Then, when the offered amounts began to climb (much to the pleasure of the owner, who Jonesy noticed was skillfully feeding the fire of an argument) Jonesy knew it was time to strike. He slipped into the circle of car guys, and asked innocently if the owner wanted a down payment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, at least five hundred.” Jonesy pretended to take the information with shocked dismay, before whispering to Bonzo, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, I only managed to pilfer two hundred from Jimmy’s pocket.” Bonzo swore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you take credit? I’m good for it-” the owner shook his shaggy head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everyone says they’re good for it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” Jonesy felt bad at the pleading tone in Bonzo’s voice, “but I-” he stopped, realizing that he had lost to some nineteen year old idiot who looked like Michele Overman. Looking at Roger, he composed himself, instructing the boy to “Take care of her.” He said it like a man who’d just lost an intense custody battle, and Roger nodded soberly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>God these people. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As they walked away, Jonesy, still feeling awful, tried to make his drummer feel better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m really sorry, I should've gotten more, but he was flailing just so-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not your fault. But- wait how often do you pick pockets?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Less and less.” He put a comforting hand on Bonzo’s shoulder. “I should’ve told you we were on a budget.” Bonzo just shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, if I’m being honest, I think the hunt is more fun than actually owning it.” He paused, and chuckled slightly. “Besides, it’s not like I have a valid license in the states anyway.” Jonesy froze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John,” he said slowly, “you’ve been driving us around this entire time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know.” Bonzo replied genially. “Lucky me, we never got pulled over.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God, you are insufferable.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You sure seem to suffer me all the time though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not a-” he gave up, content to let himself be dragged around the rows of automobiles again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As the people mover came to a stop, Robert refused to get off.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t experience it, I was too focused on thinking about their bodies entwining-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will ride with you again if you promise to shut up about that.” John kept that promise, which meant Keith did as well, and Roger and Jimmy had already had their fun one-on-one adventure, so all five of them ended up on the ride again, this time in total silence. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Pete was exhausted and overwhelmed. He staggered out of Space Mountain, frankly at the end of his rope. But then, hope burst into his heart as he heard his friends calling his name. He looked up, and there were five fluffy idiots, all pushing each other out of the way so he would see them, waving and everything. He reminded himself of them, reasoning that if one of them had a bizarre last request- which was all but certain- he needed the strength and willpower to fulfill it. Pete blew them a kiss as they faded from his view, and then walked right back to the end of the line. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bonzo actually kept his breakfast-table promise; after an hour, they left the car show. As he got behind the wheel of the rusty van, he tried to figure out someplace Jonesy would want to go. It was sweet that he tried to pretend to be entertained, but he was a piss-poor actor. But where did he like to go? He could be so elusive sometimes. Bonzo frowned. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe he </span>
  </em>
  <span>is </span>
  <em>
    <span>the sexy, mysterious one. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, where to next?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, why don’t you decide?” Bonzo said. Jonesy only shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t particularly care, as long as we’re together.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s really cute and shit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, aren’t I just a doll?” He drawled sarcastically, stretching his short legs out to brush the carpeting of the van, which was so thoroughly stained with such a vast variety of substances that one could only guess what color it had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, the bestselling Disaffected Snarky British Multi-instrumentalist Femboy Barbie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously though, we haven’t done anything for you this entire time.” He shrugged again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have we done anything for anyone other than Jimmy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do we ever?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we exploited laborers? Should we behead him?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, death to the parasites, all power to the workers, where would you like to spend the afternoon?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, I don’t really like structured activities. I just sort of. . . Poke around, you know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can poke around.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but, I don’t want you to get bored wandering through alleys in an aimless safari through this urban jungle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re such a fucking nerd.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take me or leave me.” Bonzo only rolled his eyes and started the van. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, you were very clearly bored at that car show, it’s only fair. Besides,” he abruptly braked the car as that teenage asshole who stole that car from him wandered directly into the road, reaching a hand out in front of Jonesy like a soccer mom at a stop sign, “I worry about you wandering around back alleys alone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Dad, are you going to buy me a single condom next?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m just saying, if someone decided to mug you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which doesn’t happen, because people don’t notice me when I’m standing right in front of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-you would immediately be killed or maimed, and I wouldn’t find out for days.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that seriously what you think about when I go on walks?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It comes to mind on occasion.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey bear. . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you can take care of yourself, but, you know. . .”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what, I actually already meandered the day before yesterday. Why don’t we go to that tourist bridge?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can wander if that’s what you-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to go to the tourist bridge!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . Jonesy, do you seriously not know what The Golden Gate Bridge is called?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know because I haven’t the time to care.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You keep telling yourself that.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The gang finally managed to talk Robert out of the people mover, unsure of </span>
  <span>their next move. During the walk to fantasyland, Robert started rambling about how Main Street used to have a lingerie shop, and decided to drag them over to the closed up storefront that used to house it. He tried to pry the door open, and unsurprisingly failed. They were ready to turn around and casually make their way to fantasyland, but then Keith pulled a paper clip out of his back pocket and picked the lock. As the door swung open, Jimmy and Robert gazed on in awe, apparently still naive to the mysterious inner workings of Keith Moon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other two merely shrugged and entered. It was like stepping into the past, a haunting menagerie of abandoned consumer goods, row upon row of antique undergarments coated in dust and cobwebs. The windows were barred with a latticework of iron, casting golden diamonds upon the floor, and the shadows criss-crossed over the five exhausted young bodies strolling about. Keith was the first to have the nerve to actually touch something, wondering aloud who was ever turned on by sharp breasts. No one had an answer, or at least no one had the wherewithal to speak in a coherent sentence. Robert gasped, and everyone turned towards him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had found a hideous animatronic, run-down from years of neglect, and not likely to have been very impressive even when it was maintained. It appeared to be. . . A man? It had a turban. “I found him.” Robert whispered, to no one in particular, looking at the creature with unabashed reverence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You found whom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The wizard of bras.” Jimmy snorted. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it seriously called that?” Robert only nodded. Keith came over to the thing and started pressing buttons, fiddling about with wires and twinkling glass trying to get it to move. He was unsuccessful. Meanwhile, Roger had started telling Jimmy about the kinds of lace used, because he apparently came from a long line of lace makers. John stood in the middle of the room, trying to figure out what felt wrong. He looked back and forth from Keith and Robert playing with the wizard of bras to Jimmy and Roger’s academic discourse on the history of lingerie, before he finally put it together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy!” He whirled around as John dramatically spoke.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes? John?” James sounded confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a tan?” Everyone immediately looked, and gasped when they realized that John was correct. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, um, I do, don’t I?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My god.” Robert approached him, reaching out to his little face with trembling hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys, I spent all day hiking in a desert. Of course I got a tan.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve never been darker than paper, kitten. This is a new, strange thing, and we’re all going to have to adjust to it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The fuck kind of new age- Robert, honey, he’s still absurdly pale.” Roger felt the need to point this out, having spent all day inside and still having a darker complexion than anyone else present. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, but. . .” Jimmy, frustrated, grabbed Robert’s hand and touched it to his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See? There’s literally no difference.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, what if the sudden burst of vitamin D turns you into a superhero?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith,” John didn’t know where to begin with that, so he simply said, “I would love to live in whatever fantasy land you have constructed for yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also, you do know that a tan will. . . You know, go away, right?” Robert only nodded solemnly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right baby, it’s going to be okay, we’re going to get through this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Percy,” by now Robert was clinging to Jimmy’s side, the latter steadily transitioning from confusion to irritation, “there is nothing wrong.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so brave.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bonzo and Jonesy had ended up at a beach. The sun was heading steadily westward, its rays unobstructed by clouds. Ergo, the beach had been flocked with other people. The cacophony of voices combined into one tremendous scream, endlessly projected into the void. The brightly dyed garments and towels communicated to the eyes what the din did to the ears. The sea was remarkably blue, fading from royal to peacock as one looked away from the horizon and towards oneself. Even as Jonesy closed his eyes, the sunlight burned until he saw orange. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you apply sunscreen?” Bonzo asked him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You only live once John.” He didn’t hesitate to do it himself. Jonesy shrugged away from his hands, but he couldn’t help but enjoy it. Robert had taught Bonzo how to give massages once upon a bored, Kidderminster afternoon. He had the deft, delicate touch and never ending strength that, combined, created an absolutely orgasmic experience. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your shoulders are rock-hard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dabbling with murder will do that to a man.” Jonesy had been in a more or less constant state of panic since reading up on the case during the flight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been doing that too, and I feel fine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how that’s possible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honestly, this whole trip has been so bizarre, it kind of doesn’t feel real? I think my mind is just unwilling to process it or something, so I just kind of sit back and enjoy the onion nuggets.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm, those were good, weren’t they?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can go get some, if you want.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Damn, you really do love me, don’t you?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Once Jimmy had pried himself out of Robert, he and the others continued to look through the decrepit fetish gear, wistfully ruminating on the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a shame.” Keith voiced his apparent thoughts. He didn’t need to explain. Roger nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, all this history, rotting away.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hidden behind throngs of people.” Jimmy decided to throw his forlorn hat in the ring. Robert followed suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lingerie is made to be loved, created to bring joy, and yet here it sits, unknown and untouched.” They all marinated in melancholy for a minute, before Keith piped up again with, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we just take it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like, obviously no one wants it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What,” Roger asked, “are we just going to drag it out and hope no one notices?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We could wear it!” Robert was starting to catch on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like. . . Underneath our clothes, like a shoplifter?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that is sort of the premise of lingerie, yes,” Jimmy remarked, “is that you wear it under your plainclothes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hang on,” John did not seem happy about this at all, “all of these bras are very. . . pointy; won’t people notice?” Jimmy shrugged.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If anyone confronts us, which is unlikely, we can just tell them that we’re remarkably ugly women.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s very hurtful, Jim-Jam.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So is calling me that, Bob.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they all stripped, after John double-checked that all of the windows were shuttered and the door locked, everyone tried to pick the best pieces that they could. Keith was indecisive and horny, Roger went around counseling everyone with his insider information, John refused to put on a bra, and Robert kept helping Jimmy with simple tasks, clearly just looking for an excuse to touch him. Their clothes started to get mixed up on the floor, and there was some debate as to who had actually worn what. By the end, Keith and Roger had swapped shirts, John had pocketed all of Robert’s jewelry, and Jimmy was still having a hard time with everyone ogling his tan lines, not to mention working around his braces. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’d all gotten dressed again, everyone had gotten considerably randy and bold. They were doing something illicit, forbidden, sexy. And at </span>
  <em>
    <span>Disneyland</span>
  </em>
  <span>. John decided that they should go visit Pete over at Space Mountain, to see if he would notice. Robert said his last goodbye to The Wizard of Bras, and they exited the store as covertly as possible. Keith and John knew how to feign confidence and belonging in order to sneak into a forbidden area, and they tried to set an example for everyone to look like they were just maintenance. That didn’t fully work, but they were able to sneak out without anyone noticing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They were sitting on a different, less populous part of the beach now, onion nuggets in hand, finishing them up and preparing to frolic in the sea. Bonzo had been quietly eating, watching the sun sink closer and closer to the horizon, when he was struck with a sudden thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jones?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm?” He too was yanked out of the thoughts he’d been lost in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any other weird skills from boarding school that I should know about?” Jonesy swallowed his last nugget. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What would you need to know about?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- I’m not sure, just curious, I guess.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, let me think about it.” He did, for a few seconds. “I know how to walk on my hands.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How the hell-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not sure I even remember where that came from. Hm, let’s see. I- Oh, there was the time I tried to casually fake my own death.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry what.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was trying to avoid friend zoning this other boy, and for reasons that I don’t want to explain, I felt that it would be easier to simply make him believe that I had been killed in a tragic kayaking accident.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And this worked?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, not at all. I think he believed it for maybe a week? He got really angry when he found out, and he started writing in all the bathroom stalls that I gave fantastic blowjobs, which wasn’t even true.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing honey. Why don’t you go swim?” Jonesy shrugged, stretching as he stood up. He extended one of his long, frail hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come with me.” Bonzo knew it was only a very banal offer, a simple gesture, but something about the darkening sky framing him, and the low angle from which he was viewing him made it seem like this was some sort of grand turning point, a decision that would haunt him for years to come. In that moment, Jonesy was framed in his field of vision almost like a siren, tempting him to the sea, beautiful and lethal. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Maybe I just need to stop taking life advice from Percy and Jim. That’s probably it. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The sea </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>remarkably clear, and they could feel the force pushing their legs back with each wave. Jonesy waited only until the water reached his knees to fall onto his stomach and swim, and Bonzo wasn’t long in following. As they progressed further away from the shore, where they assumed no one could make out their faces very well, they moved in closer to one another, eventually unabashedly touching and dragging each other under the waves, writhing and splashing, letting out an occasional yell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A woman sitting on the beach noticed them, and chastined her sulking children, who’d spent the better part of the day bickering pettily, “Now look at those brothers, out their romping in the waves. Why can’t you get along?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You used the wrong version of there, idiot.” Murmured one of her sons. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>By the time the gang made their way to Tomorrowland, everyone but Keith had grown substantially uncomfortable. It turns out you need a few weeks to break a corset in, and just wearing one at the tightest it can be with no preparation combined with physical excursion is a good way to permanently damage your body. The stockings were hot underneath denim, and garterlines were somehow even more awkward than pantylines. Not to mention the double pyramids strapped to their chests. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, resolute, determined to make Pete uncomfortable in a public setting as well-due revenge, Roger continually spurred the others on, until they had reached Space Mountain. After waiting by the exit for a time, they saw Pete rush out, and stopped him. In all their disheveled beauty, the gang arrayed themselves in front of Pete, waiting for his shock and disgust. It didn’t happen. They stood in the line for Space Mountain for an entire fucking hour, and Pete didn’t say a thing. He happily conversed with them about the people mover as they tried to make their illicit cross-dressing more and more obvious, but that little punk didn’t even see. At one point, at the peak of his frustration, Roger simply grabbed Pete’s hand and placed it upon his newfound tit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete balked for a moment, and everyone pressed up against him more than they already had, waiting for him to scream or start dry-humping Roger’s leg or something. But no. Fate was not on their side that day. Pete just laughed and shook his head, before changing the subject to a tangent about why carrot cake is the worst baked good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger had been through a lot of painful shit in his lifetime. As had the others, really. But riding space mountain in ancient lingerie was exponentially worse than any other pain he had ever felt. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The Johns, having mostly dried themselves off, were wandering down the beach, finding it less and less crowded as its rock saturation increased. The sun was almost ready to touch the horizon now, with only the smallest strip of washed-out yellow sky separating it from the sea. The air was cooling, the salt spray as tangy and pervasive as ever. Since the crowd was thinning and children being taken home, the noise had gone down exponentially, allowing the kind of romantic atmosphere that Erica Mitchell needs in her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually the Johns, lulled into a halcyon silence by the overwhelming aestheticism of the summer twilight, came upon a sparsely wooded area of the beach that they hadn’t seen before. Evidently no one else had either, as the sandy forest totally lacked people and garbage. The Johns continued on, pushing through the ever-denser greenery. As they came further towards the heart of the woods, they made sure to stay by the seaside, not wanting to get lost. As the woods went on, trees started to block out the soft light of the sun, so Jonesy and Bonzo’s only anchor to the rest of the world became the song of the waves, an unrelenting rhythm that preceded mankind, and would ensue long after it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They continued their trek, and eventually came upon a hammock. Its ends were wood, the body a framework of thin, white rope, tied in a repeating pattern in order to distribute weight. It was shaded from the sinking sun, lighted only by the rising moon. Swaying gently in the warm breeze, the hammock looked unbelievably idyllic. Bonzo immediately situated himself within it, while Jonesy lingered in the golden light of the dusk for a moment longer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get in here, you sexy little Keebler elf.” Jonesy turned around, managing to look imposing with the light falling on the hair framing his face and highlighting its angles, which were hardly subtle to begin with. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you just call me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You heard.” He looked back at the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bold tonight, are we?” Jonesy said, making his way to the dual trees between which the hammock was suspended and allowing the hands now on his waist to throw him into it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as they were both wrapped up in the hammock and one another, time seemed to still even more than it already had. They couldn’t see the sea or the sun, could hardly hear the waves crashing. The world seemed to consist only of Johns. Everything else was drowned out in the light of the moon. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After the disappointment with Pete, the gang decided to try and seduce one of the character performers. They were each dispatched to a different one. Jimmy found Cinderella, which made him uncomfortable considering past sexual exploits with a woman by that name. Robert ended up finding Sleeping Beauty, but kept walking because she looked too similar to himself. He eventually happened upon Mickey Mouse, the wizard version. Robert liked a challenge. Meanwhile, John and Keith had stayed together- against the rules of the contest- and set their sights on Snow White. Roger snuck back to Tomorrowland Terrace, trying to come up with a plausible excuse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy was unbelievably inept at conversing with members of the fairer sex. And he was at a real disadvantage here; he lacked both a guitar to show off and a road manager to do the seducing for him. Without either of his secret weapons, Jimmy had to try and navigate the encounter on his own. What’s worse, Cinderella was clearly a theatre major, and she absolutely refused to break character. Jimmy wasn’t good at role play that wasn’t related to long-dead occultists or the greater Arthurian cannon, so he really had to think outside the box.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you know that you have a fairy godfather as well?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I?” She was trying not to snap at him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I’m your godmother’s cool, young grandson. Also I’m not a fairy. I’m a sorcerer. A cool one.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I bet you are!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, actually. Say, where’s Charming gone to?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s just inside the castle. Right behind us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm. Letting you wander around all alone? Doesn’t sound so charming to me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sir, please don’t make me call security.” He sighed heavily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What time does your shift end?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Princesses don’t have shifts, silly.” Jimmy chewed on that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When. . . Do you go back to the castle for the night?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Palace security can be here in five minutes.” He threw his hands up in defeat, and wandered away into a gift shop to sooth his damaged ego with an impulsive hat purchase. He decided that matching mouse ears for everyone would make him feel better. Robert would think it cute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert, meanwhile, had completely forgotten about the sexual aspect of it. He had managed to grab a Mickey actor about to retreat back into the cast members’ lounge. The actor, apparently a fan, decided to let him in, and they spent the next two hours coming up with obscene phrases to say in a Mickey voice and/or British accent. The lounge for character performers was better than most of the hotels Robert had ever been to, so he and Mickey enjoyed unending snacks and beverages. Robert wasn’t a hard man to entertain, and in that magical moment, he felt like he’d genuinely stumbled into paradise by accident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger, meanwhile, was in hell. As the late lunch crowd was steadily replaced by an ever-growing dinner rush. Not to mention his coworkers’ justified wrath at his desertion. Roger could feel the joy and humanity seeping out of him, into the dull linoleum floor of the kitschy establishment. He kept closing his eyes and imagining the people he cared about, but that endorphin rush soon wore out and became annoyance, as he just knew that all those fuckers were having a lovely time out in the park, where he was slaving away in this hot, clamorous space which was quickly becoming his hell. But Roger was a dedicated, hard worker. He could weather this. Setting his jaw and choking back tears, Roger continued to pour himself into the task at hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith and John did not have a difficult time with Snow White at all. That poor girl had been on her feet all day, seven hours of the California heat and shrieking children had gotten on her nerves. She liked The Who, too, and even told them that she played a little bass guitar. There was no way this could get better. They put a good half hour into convincing her, but after that long, she was willing to lean in and whisper that she would meet them in the trains’ maintenance shed in fifteen minutes. Grinning like idiot children, John and Keith made their way to the boundaries of the tracks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy got tired of carrying all of those hats while looking for his friends, so he simply decided to leave them in the van as a nice surprise at the end of the day. That’s the kind of bullshit romantic gesture that was Robert absolutely weak for. Trudging defeatedly through the park, worn out and dejected and aching from the pressure of three corsets wrapped around his sapling-like torso, Jimmy watched the sunset turn the entire park golden for the briefest window of time. Nothing gold can stay, however, and the electricity soon switched on to illuminate the murky silver twilight. Jimmy’s mind stuck on ‘Nothing gold can stay,’ and the little twat decided that he must have come up with it, and spent the rest of the walk mentally congratulating himself. It did manage to put some pep in his step, though, so he reached the parking lot much sooner than he otherwise would have. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Where the fuck did we park?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jimmy wondered as he wandered through the endless rows of cars. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Who needs a car show when you have a parking lot? </span>
  </em>
  <span>He eventually remembered noticing, as Bonzo spent a neurotic amount of time straightening out, that the end of their parking space was a particularly artistically stimulating lilac bush. Tracking it down, he found an empty space. </span>
  <em>
    <span>There are plenty of lilac bushes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He figured with a shrug. But, just as he was turning to leave, Jimmy noticed a scrap of fabric on the ground. Picking it up, he recognized his fifteenth favorite scarf. Jimmy realized with horror that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>found the correct bush, but the van was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The van was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The van was gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He fainted, without a plush divan, only the asphalt to catch his crumpled body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roger was terrified of being caught, but he finally left the restaurant again when the night set in. He realized that he was dooming this doppelgänger Jacob to a world of hurt, but that job drained every last ounce of human compassion out of him. Under the cover of night, Roger slipped out, made his way to the parade. There he met John, Keith, and Robert, all sweaty and smiling. They greeted him like a dog at the end of a long day, and he couldn’t help but feel better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey guys!” He almost announced it, to himself anyway. Salvation was there, everything was okay. “Still no sign of the other Johns?” Robert shook his head, curls softly swaying with the motion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy’s not here yet either.” Keith informed him, for once genuinely helpful. He only nodded, content to wait with the others. Speak of the devil- Pete arrived! He said they had closed Space Mountain, so he was theirs now. Beautiful. The parade was a stunning display of lights and colors, and Roger supposed it must be the Fourth of July, because there were fireworks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the middle of the display, Jimmy appeared out of nowhere. He was striking, his alabaster face and inky hair reflecting the colorful lights that provided the evening’s only illumination. Roger tried to smile at him, but before he got a chance, Jimmy grabbed his shoulder, tighter than a vice. His hand was soaked with what smelled like sweat, and his eyes were wide with frenzy. Jimmy said something, but Roger couldn’t hear him over the crowd. He shook his head, until Page gave up, yelling right in his ear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The van is missing!” </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Bonzo woke up after what genuinely could have been years. He hadn’t been asleep per se, but he sure as hell hadn’t been conscious. Jonesy was looking at him with those faraway eyes, like when he was tripping, but more. His lips were moving, but what he was saying was hard to discern. He shook him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jones.” No response. He shook harder. “John!” Still nothing. Bonzo started to panic, somehow knew in his bones that he was running out of time. He didn’t know how he knew this, or what would happen at the end of this time, but he didn’t want to find out. Bonzo pushed Jonesy out of the hammock, quick to join him on the ground. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jonesy was too out of it to break his fall, landing with a thud and an oof. Winded, it took a minute for him to suck the air back into his lithe frame and become aware of his surroundings. Bonzo got to his feet as soon as possible, dragging Jonesy to the- now seemingly farther away- seaside. It was nighttime by then. The air was much cooler than it had been, the sky that endless velvety black that came with a new moon. Wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wasn’t there just a full moon above us? Over the hammock?” Jonesy stole the words right out of his mouth. He could only look at him helplessly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should leave.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” They were too disoriented to let go of one another, and kept walking progressively faster, eager to get back to civilization, terrified that it may be gone before they reached it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While John and John didn’t see another person- the beach was closed- they did find the van. As they sat in the front, clinging together wordlessly, another half hour passed while the omnipresent foreboding slowly went away, until the van only contained two adult men and a few square feet of fabric left behind by a few absent-minded musicians. Having calmed down, the Johns realized that their friends were stranded at Disneyland. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think they’re closed?” Bonzo asked as he sped through the gentle summer night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope not. Jesus, how long do you think it’s been?” Bonzo only shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they finally found their way to the park, it was ten minutes to closing time. The parking lot was already swarmed with tourists, trying to leave early to avoid the crowds. After a lightning-fast discussion, Bonzo decided to venture into the park while Jonesy stayed in the van, waiting to let everyone in as Bonzo found each of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He dashed through the crowd, skillfully avoiding hurting anyone like a fucking hero. Bonzo went straight to the head of the parade- he knew Robert liked to be the first to see exciting things. Luckily, he found everyone. Jimmy was curled up on the sidewalk, with everyone crowding him, which could only make it worse. Feeling a twinge of empathy, Bonzo made his way through the thickest patch of people he’d ever seen. Honestly, this Disneyland experience made him feel much worse about Led Zeppelin concerts. He was astonished that there even were that many people in the world, let alone one parade. As Keith excitedly exclaimed his name, the gang all pivoted to Bonzo, abandoning Jimmy on the ground. He tried to shout over their incessant questions, before simply grabbing Roger- the smallest and closest- and shaking him until he was quiet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go. To. The. Van. Parked across the street. Do not wait.” Wide-eyed, they did as they were told for once. Bonzo crouched down next to Jimmy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You! John, the van-“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s okay. We brought it back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You- did you two actually leave?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we did Jim.” Jimmy’s expression turned from surprise to anger remarkably quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You fucking abandoned us? At the fucking human trafficking capital of the world?!” Jimmy had stood up, panic attack over. Bonzo started gently moving him towards the exit while Jimmy kept admonishing him. About halfway through their long march, his patience for the neverending torrent of verbal abuse wore thin. He decided to fill Jimmy’s mouth up with a comically large turkey leg instead of nasally castigation. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jonesy tried to converse with everyone pleasantly, periodically looking at the park exit for the other two. The traffic was growing substantially, and he was anxious to get back to the hotel. Finally, the two of them appeared, both with comically large turkey legs in hand. Jonesy was too tired and wound up to even be exasperated, he just caught Bonzo’s eyes and motioned for them to hurry up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>During the three-and-a-half-hour-long traffic jam, when they’d run out of fun anecdotes about their days and got bored of wearily making out, the gang finally laid out an actual strategy for the rest of their murder investigation. However, they also vowed to spend the next day in a spa, unwinding from the intense stress of their day off. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Again, a lot of this is more historically accurate than you might expect.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Georgina on my Mind; the Zodiac Killer in my Room <3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a rainy morning when the gang finally got back to work. After what became a three-day self-care sabbatical full of homoerotic adventures and potential bonus chapters, everyone was finally at the top of their game again, ready to hopefully catch a serial killer. The plan was technically simple, but Jimmy had insisted on adding several layers of elaborate, bad-spy-thriller-worthy bullshit onto it to add to the ambiance or something. Since they had illegally obtained documents pertaining to the case from the pigs, stuff that even Randy didn’t have access to, they were going to carefully examine it, combined with their own leads, at the yarn shop. They would also- This part was Robert’s idea, and he was very proud of it- take turns separating from the group in teams of two to drive around to past crime scenes to look for more boots or whatever. </p><p>Once they’d situated themselves in the store after a very awkward encounter with Ernestine, the actual work began. Kimiko generously wheeled out a blackboard for them to work on the ciphers on, where Pete and Jonesy immediately got to work. John arranged everyone around the table so as to allow collaboration, and as the gang got to work, Jimmy sent Roger and Bonzo out to fetch coffee and investigate a crime scene or something. </p><p> </p><p>Bonzo and Roger had been driving for fifteen minutes before they realized that they hadn’t thought to ask where any of the crime scenes were. Pulling into a McDonald’s, they found out that onion nuggets had been discontinued.</p><p>“What? Why?”</p><p>“Tell them it’s for a couple of equally successful popular bands.” Bonzo leaned over to the mic.</p><p>“What if I told you it was for Led Zeppelin?”</p><p>“Hey fuck you.” </p><p>“I’m sorry sir, we have none.” </p><p>“Why would they discontinue such a wonderful product?” </p><p>“Simply put, no one liked them. Also, we found that vermin were scared to consume them, and considered that a bad omen.” </p><p>“Shit. Can we just get, like, thirty coffees?” The poor teenager taking their order audibly choked.</p><p>“I’m sorry, how many?” Roger leaned over to Bonzo, and pointed out that thirty wasn’t evenly divisible by eight. It took a minute, but the two decided that 56 should be a good amount. </p><p>“We’ll just have 56 coffees and an order of fries. Oh, without salt.” </p><p>“You know,” Roger, as a veteran fast food worker, cajoled his companion, “forcing them to make an entirely new vat of fries just for you is the equivalent of walking into the kitchen and just spitting directly in their faces.”</p><p>“What, you know everyone else is a weird health freak, I’m being helpful.” Roger didn’t say anything. </p><p> </p><p>While Jonesy and Pete had actually made a small increment of progress with the ciphers, with occasional help from Jimmy, a lot of the pieces started falling together. Randy and the state both had plentiful materials that the other didn’t, somehow. John noticed that all of the crime scenes were equidistant from Randy’s house, and Jimmy immediately started fretting that Randy would be next. While the actual meaning of this factoid was not lost on anybody else, Jimmy refused to hear any suspicion regarding the man he considered his greatest ally. This sparked a heated debate about obvious facts, which caused Jonesy and Pete to abandon the blackboard. </p><p>At that point, Bonzo and Roger made the mistake of entering. Roger, with a seven-tier stack of cardboard drink holders, sought a place to put it. </p><p>“Pete, where-”</p><p>“Has your shampoo leaked into your fucking brain?” Pete shouted at Jimmy, oblivious and full of rage. </p><p>“Pete do you not shampoo your hair?”</p><p>“Pete, can I put these down?”</p><p>“Roger! What are you doing back so soon, you ropey fitness orc?”</p><p>“Please help me!” Bonzo delicately placed his stack of coffee in a corner, before going over to help Roger do the same. </p><p>“So, team,” he said, “what have we found?” </p><p>“Well,” Robert started in an indignant tone, “we keep finding implicating evidence against Randy, but Jimmy is being willfully obtuse out of blind loyalty to a man he’s known for half of a week!” </p><p>“Oh you fucking-”</p><p>“I think what he means to say,” This time John was playing mediator, curious. It must have been an atrocious fight, “is that, while it is always good to keep an open mind and investigate every avenue of a crime instead of immediately deciding upon one suspect, Randy being the killer is looking more and more probable.” What is it about bassists? </p><p>“Why did you two get back so early anyway?” Pete asked them, seemingly eager to get past the Randy debate. Bonzo explained that they didn’t have a clue where any of the crime scenes were, so they just brought coffee. </p><p>“Are- are you trying to poison us?” Jonesy asked them. </p><p>“What? No.” </p><p>“I’m pretty sure that’s enough caffeine to stop an elephant’s heart.” Keith chimed in. </p><p>“Yeah, I can feel my heartbeat increase just from looking at it.”</p><p>“That’s because you’re a lightweight, Twinkie.”</p><p>“Percy what have I told you about calling me that in public?” Jimmy pulled him over to argue about it behind a big shelf of crochet hooks. Meanwhile, Pete and Jonesy decided to just cut their losses with Roger and Bonzo and send the next pair out. Since they were going by the drawing from last week, that meant that it was Jonesy and Robert’s turn. </p><p>They waited a solid ten minutes for Jimmy and him to finish their hushed argument. By the time it had ended, both of them stormed back out to the mystery table, visibly angry. Jonesy awkwardly took Robert by the arm and they left the shop. Once they were gone, Jimmy huffily went to work on the ciphers with Pete as John and Keith tried to refresh Bonzo and Roger on what they’d missed, which was quite a lot. Both of them immediately believed the Randy theory, but kept quiet to avoid Jimmy’s ire.</p><p> </p><p>In the van, Robert kept staring out at the road as Jonesy drove, trying to think of something to say. His feathers were still ruffled, however, from his little lovers’ spat. Jonesy apparently noticed this, and decided to take pity. </p><p>“Do you want to grab lunch?” </p><p>“Isn’t it nine in the morning?” </p><p>“Time is a construct.” </p><p>“I’m full from my wonderful hotel breakfast, actually, but you’re welcome to if you’d like.” </p><p>“No, I just thought it might make you feel better.” Wait. Was that. . . Honest vulnerable compassion? From Jonesy?  </p><p>“That’s very kind of you.” He shrugged. </p><p>“I mean, it was an attempt.” Jonesy paused, and looked over at Robert for a split second. “What did he say to you, anyway?” Robert panicked a bit. </p><p>“Oh, nothing, you know, usual arguing lover stuff, nothing to worry about.”</p><p>“Good to hear. I don’t know, I’ve seen you guys fight, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this upset before.” </p><p>“Oh. I’m really not even that upset. He just,” he felt himself unwind as he started talking slightly louder, let the words come naturally, “I just hate the way he polices what we can and can’t do in public. Like, I know it’s about publicity or whatever, but it just seems like he’s embarrassed of me or something, it hurts.” He realized that Jonesy, dear as he was, was maybe not the ideal person to tell all this to, but it had already happened. </p><p>“Oh come on, he loves you more than anything in the world.” Jonesy said sympathetically, speeding up when a traffic light turned yellow. </p><p>“That’s very sweet, but I don’t know-”</p><p>“I do. I don’t know what he’s been telling you, but it’s all he writes about in his little diary.” Robert couldn’t believe his ears.</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“Yeah. Pages and pages, just about how in love he is, and how new and strange and magical everything feels, and how perfect and pretty and sweet you are-”</p><p>“Wait, have you been reading Jimmy’s diary?”</p><p>“Why do you think I bought him one?”</p><p>“And it’s all about me?” </p><p>“Mostly. Occasionally he updates his enemies list, or copies and annotates something some long-dead satanist wrote, once in a while he writes poetry he doesn’t think is strong enough for a song. Oh, and every day he analyzes his horoscope for at least a page. Also, I think one time he tried to write a novel? It seemed to just be self-insert Star Trek fanfiction with the names changed though, so, make of that what you will.” </p><p>“What does he say about me?” Robert was in a bad mood, he really needed this. In fact, he was glad that he had gone with Jonesy, instead of someone he was friendlier with. </p><p>“Well, it’s the kind of terrible poetry that only comes from true love.”</p><p>“Can you remember any examples?” </p><p>“Hm, let me think. He’s probably compared you to every mythological figure whose name he could remember, and one that he didn’t-”</p><p>“Whose name did he forget?” </p><p>“I think he was thinking of Hyacinthus, I don’t know, I always skipped that class to go to the faculty parking lot.” </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“To, um, smoke grass, obviously.” </p><p>“In the faculty parking lot?”</p><p>“Quasi-elite catholic-run boys’ boarding schools are strange places, my sweet child.” </p><p>“Oh yeah? Tell me about it.” </p><p>“Do you genuinely want to hear my boring high school stories?” </p><p>“I keep thinking about you reading Jimmy’s diary and getting all grossed out.” </p><p>“Oh, don’t worry Percy, I skip all the sex scenes.” </p><p>“Ew. Please tell me about catholic school.” </p><p> </p><p>Back at the yarn store, everyone had taken a short break to help a customer locate a very specific mix of Jacob Sheep and angora. This led them to explore the store and Jimmy, in his frustration about the Randy question, went to go talk to Ernestine at the front desk, gossiping about her grandchildren’s stupid friends. Meanwhile, Kimiko intercepted Keith in the pattern aisle and told him that he had a knitter’s hands. Liking the positive attention, Keith allowed her to sit him down and teach him the craft. That left only Bonzo and most of The Who. </p><p>Pete and John went to work on the cipher, while Bonzo and Roger returned to the table. They noticed that, according to the prints, the killer’s vehicle seemed to use the same tires as their van. Weird. That started a conversation about vehicles, which drifted in and out of the topic at hand. They’d discuss possible getaway cars, but then get totally sidetracked talking about that car show, which Roger was still very upset to have missed. </p><p>Meanwhile, John and Pete had actually decoded a chunk of the cipher! It was a number, 12/20/70. A date. But what had happened on that date? They went and searched through the documents. Seemingly nothing. </p><p> </p><p>As Jonesy and Robert found the scene of the crime, they loitered around a bit, trading stories of their incredibly different high school experiences. That is, until Robert found a book lying on the ground, a copy of “Green Eggs and Ham” by one Theodore Geisel. Opening it up revealed another killer note sloppily written in the inner cover. </p><p>“Who would do this to a children’s book?” Robert wondered as Jonesy, spooked like a horse who’d seen a snake, ushered him into the van. Starting it as he quickly turned the thing around, Jonesy asked Robert what the note said. “It’s like the one by the lake, just threats with capitalized song titles. It starts with ‘This is the Zodiac speaking,’ and ends with the symbol.” A chill ran up Jonesy’s spine. </p><p>“Why do we have to do this? We’re not homicide detectives, we’re fucking musicians. Why. Why does Jimmy do this?” </p><p>“He said we can do Stonehenge next.” Jonesy just sighed, jutting his jaw out just so in frustration. Robert let a beat of silence drag on for a little too long. “Hey, hey John.”</p><p>“Yes?” </p><p>“How about we go get smoothies or something?”</p><p>“They already have enough coffee for several weeks, Robert.”</p><p>“No, just for us. Just you and I.” Jonesy smiled slightly. </p><p>“If you want.” </p><p> </p><p>When Jonesy and Robert returned, drinks in hand, actually pleasantly conversing, they tossed a copy of a children’s book onto the table as Roger and Bonzo ran out to go look at the van’s tires. When they came back, they very tersely asked Jimmy how he had acquired the van. He told them that he’d simply found the cheapest rental business in town. While all this was going down, John had taken the stolen fingerprint duster to the book. Roger and Bonzo had found that the killer had the exact same make and model of tires as the van, and considering its general sketchiness, they were seriously considering that it had been the getaway vehicle. </p><p>It was decided that, after their crime scene, Pete and Keith had to go talk to the rental company. Not only could they possibly find the killer’s identity- or at least another potential suspect- but they should probably look at their warranty since Robert had broken the taillight and Pete had accidentally knocked in that ubercracked window. The two of them each took two coffees, as they were now addicted. As they strode out of the door, John and Jimmy found the word immediately after the date to be ‘Canada.’ The plot thickens. </p><p> </p><p>As Pete and Keith drove to the crime scene, Keith revealed that he had pilfered a credit card. Jimmy’s, obviously. They picked up the Princeton sweatshirt with a threatening note safety pinned to it, and then they went antiquing, hitting up every tiny tourist trap run by the elderly and/or hoarders. Pete had a good nose for the most expensive products, whereas Keith was uniquely talented at finding the most absurd. They always bought both, usually along with a chair just for fun. </p><p>Eventually, the trunk and backseat of the van overflowed with furniture, jewelry, old bottles (some still half-full of mystery liquid), upsettingly racist children’s books, terrifying porcelain dolls with secrets swimming in their eyes, taxidermy animals (including an authentic Edwardian Merry Widow hat with an entire taxidermy bird on it, (which they figured Robert would enjoy)), a few first edition novels (including, ironically, a few Sherlock Holmes stories), very beautiful old marbles, ships in bottles, a loose bag of ivory piano keys, silverware, maps that were painfully outdated (included one that had been drawn when America was still composed of various countries’ colonies), and a collection of pornography spanning multiple centuries. </p><p>They ended up having a very intense argument with the rental place. They agreed to lessen the warranty considering the state of the van at the beginning, but they refused to let Pete and Keith see the renting records. The argument escalated as Pete tried to pretend to be a government agent who’d coincidentally left his badge at home, and they were finally escorted out when Keith decided that the move was to bribe the girl working the desk with offers of sexual favors. </p><p>To combat that failure, Pete and Keith went around antiquing for another hour. On their way out of one, Keith ran into a scrawny blond teenager. He balked. </p><p>“Oh my god, you’re famed drummer Keith Moon!” </p><p>“That’s right! Are you lost, kid?” </p><p>“Yeah, where are your parents?” The youth was confused, before quickly looking very pathetic. </p><p>“They, um, they kicked me out.” </p><p>“What?” While Pete was unconvinced, Keith’s bleeding heart had kicked in. </p><p>“Yeah, I’m all alone now.” </p><p>“How old are you?” Again, it seemed the boy was calculating his answer very deliberately. </p><p>“Sixteen.” </p><p>“And your name?”</p><p>“Roger.” Keith gasped. </p><p>“An omen.” Keith said and pulled Pete aside. </p><p>“We have to take him in.”</p><p>“Are you mad?”</p><p>“He has no one else, Pete. He looks up to us! What kind of role models-”</p><p>“You think a homicide investigation is any place for a child?”</p><p>“You think the same of the streets? I mean, look at him, he can’t even navigate an antique shop, much less the real world?” Keith was also incredibly talented at looking pathetic and innocent. Pete finally relented. </p><p>“Fine. But if he makes any noise or trouble, we’re throwing him out like a stray dog, got it?” </p><p>“Thank you and your merciful heart, my dearest Peter!” Pete rolled his eyes. He was even more frustrated when the boy- Roger- took ten minutes pushing their antiques to the side so he could sit in the van, clearly giddy to be effectively adopted by his idol or whatever. </p><p> </p><p>When Pete and Keith returned, they were closely followed by a boy. Explaining, “This is Roger,” as if it required no further elaboration, Keith handed Jimmy a Princeton hoodie. </p><p>“Wait,” New Roger suddenly became excited, “is that famed drummer John Henry Bonham?” </p><p>“In the flesh,” he said without looking up. Roger had a silent meltdown. They sat him in a corner and proceeded to ignore him for the rest of the day. Running over their hints, it was Princeton, Green Eggs and Ham, 12/20/70 Canada, ostrich-skin boots, and Randy. The fact that it was Randy was becoming increasingly obvious, much to Jimmy’s chagrin. Eventually, his bizarre devotion to this near-stranger brought the investigation to a total halt. Assuming that Randy was the primary suspect was obvious to literally everyone else, and there was no way to continue that wasn’t contingent on that fact. </p><p>Thus, they decided to pause the investigation, take all their paperwork back to the hotel, and spend the rest of the day debating the Randy question at a restaurant or something. </p><p> </p><p>The gang was now sitting cross-legged in a circle on the grass of a small park, passing around a jar of almond butter with a spoon as if it was a blunt. As they had hoped, this discouraged others from approaching them. New Roger, realizing that Keith and Bonzo (who felt like he recognized the boy) were too busy to talk to him, started running around like an unleashed dog. He darted in and out of their sight so frequently that their brains started to tune him out as another background detail. The gang was also largely irritated at having to sit on a monstrous pile of creepy antiques for the entire drive to the hotel, and John and Roger were particularly incensed that all of that garbage was in their room now. </p><p>In the park, sitting in their little murder circle with their little jar of almond butter, the gang found Jimmy just as insistent about Randy’s innocence as he had been before. This was infuriating, but at least they could shout in a park, whereas they would feel unutterably guilty being rowdy in a yarn store. This lasted nearly an hour before John and Bonzo started whispering amongst themselves. Eventually, when everyone had more or less abandoned the conversation at hand to try and eavesdrop, John turned to the group as a whole. </p><p>“We two Johns- again, fantastic sitcom name- have decided, in order to finally convince our adamant friend, to tell you all what happened when we ventured into Randy’s house.” With that dramatic promise, the rest of the gang stopped pretending to mind their own business, all six faces turning toward John and John like sunflowers. Robert had even paused in making a dandelion chain to occupy his hands. </p><p>“Go on.” </p><p>“As we wandered through the home, we noticed something was off right away. There were dirty dishes scattered all over the floor, cardboard pizza boxes stacked in the sink, everywhere were pamphlets for Pipe Dream the musical, the worst broadway show to date. Every surface was coated in grime, each patch learning from and improving upon that nearest to it. As we crept through the hallway leading to the bedroom, the floor steadily became littered with various sharp objects. </p><p>“On the way, one of the doors was open; we couldn’t help but look. The room was mostly empty, with a stool in the middle. Each leg of the stool was tied to a piece of red thread, each going out to a corner of the room.” By this point, Robert had gotten bored and started on his dandelion chain again, and everyone momentarily paused to wave to New Roger. “On top of the stool there was a little hat.” Robert regained interest all of a sudden. Meanwhile, Keith had just resumed knitting the lopsided rectangle that Kimiko had helped him start. “It was small, like for a kid, a wizard hat. You know that one cartoon with the little rat?” </p><p>“John we were <em> just </em>at Disneyland.” </p><p>“It doesn’t matter. There were also all these strange symbols, written all over the walls and ceiling, in red. We couldn’t believe our eyes. Bonzo and I have both seen cults and everything, and he’s even had to spend time around Jimmy, but this was otherworldly. We noticed this huge closet door too; that chunk of the wall didn’t have any symbols, so I guess we decided to check it out. No words were exchanged. We kinda just moved towards it. Bonzo had picked up an axe off the floor, which was lucky, because the closet was locked. However, possessed with a burning curiosity, we just hacked at it a few times before the door swung open. Inside, it was just piles of blankets, stacked atop each other, floor to ceiling. We started yanking them out, I guess convinced that no one would lock a door just to hide blankets.  Sure enough, there was a treasure chest, sitting in the back corner. Pulling it out, we found that it too was locked, and hacked it open as well.”</p><p>“What was inside?” Old Roger asked like a child before bed. Robert left to go use the loo. </p><p>“More blankets.” Everyone gasped, except Bonzo, who’d been silent throughout the entire story. “But, that wasn’t all. We were, again, bewildered at hiding a pile of blankets in a locked chest behind more blankets in a locked closet, but then Bonzo realized, after we’d vigorously shaken all the blankets in case there was jewelry or something, that the chest had a false bottom. We exchanged a look as a chill ran up our spines- or at least a chill ran up mine, I would never want to speak over a fellow John- and he was about to hack it up, but then he just stopped. I don’t remember if I said it aloud, but I got a strong feeling that if he’d gone to all this trouble to hide this thing, we probably didn’t want to know. So we left that room in a hurry.”</p><p>“I don’t want to interrupt because you’re doing wonderfully, but I feel it vital to mention that the kitchen also contained an egg perfectly balanced on its top.” </p><p>“Bonzo,” Pete was confused, “why would we have to know this?”</p><p>“I feel that it perfectly communicates what a fucking psycho we’re dealing with.” Everyone nodded gravely. New Roger came over to the circle and asked them if he could have money for a snow cone. After Jimmy bitterly gave the youth a handful of grimy cash- enough to buy one for everyone- he bade John continue his saga. </p><p>“Well, as we went down to the master bedroom, the natural Californian heat and light slowly faded away. Already spooked by the blanket thing, I determined that I should also have a weapon. However, the hallway had somehow grown narrower, and the random sharp objects littering the floor fewer and farther between. As we cracked the door open, we looked inside and saw-” with perfect dramatic timing, Robert burst through the hedges with an entire goat cradled in his arms. </p><p>“Guys I found a goat!”</p><p>“We can see that.”</p><p>“Jimmy, can we keep him?” </p><p>“Where the fuck did you find a goat?”</p><p>“I love him and he loves me.” </p><p>“That’s very sweet, and also not what I asked you.” </p><p>“Look at his cute little ears.”</p><p>“Where did he come from?” </p><p>“His name is George.” </p><p>“Percy, angel, darling, princess, sugar, sweetheart, cream puff, baby, doll, beauty, light, dear, love,” as he continued, Jonesy leaned over to explain to a visibly confused Pete Jimmy’s bizarre habit of listing pet names to sooth his temper (and thus prevent himself from bullying his lovers to the point of tears), “moonchild, muffin, candy, baby,” he had repeated himself; the list would soon end, “gumdrop, sunshine, gorgeous, Robert- I will ask you one last time: Where did that goat come from?” Robert thought about it. </p><p>“He doesn’t have any diseases or anything.” </p><p>“How could you possibly know that?” </p><p>“I have a goat. Can we keep him please?” Jimmy had spent a lot of time investing in and lauding his own willpower, but it was clearly not nearly as strong as he thought it was. But, before Jimmy could concede, Keith decided to be the voice of reason,</p><p>“How are we going to sneak a goat into the hotel?” Robert gently placed the animal at his feet, instructing it to stay put. </p><p>“He can live in the van. Or we could simply bribe the bellboy.” George looked around the circle, disoriented and yet bored. </p><p>“Robert, baby, please, be reasonable.” </p><p>“I happen to believe that love supersedes reason. You knew that once, James.” Jimmy rolled his eyes and buried his head in his frail hands. Around a mouthful of almond butter, Old Roger pointed out, </p><p>“Would George really be happy sleeping in a van or a hotel room?”</p><p>“Well Keith and Pete got to adopt a dumb teenager, so, why can’t I have George?” </p><p>“Hey speaking of, where <em> is </em> New Roger?” The gang looked around. That stupid little twink was nowhere to be seen. After eating almond butter straight from the jar like vile miscreants, everybody was starting to suffer from dry mouth. The gang got up, split into duos, and made their way through the park. </p><p>New Roger had been stuck by a goddamned porcupine, dropping everyone’s drinks on the ground. Robert and Keith plucked a few of his quills out before realizing that they should sanitize all the wounds, and needed to go back to the hotel. As everyone piled into the van, Jimmy poutily asked John to finish his story. </p><p>“Hm? Oh, yeah, the saga of Randy’s house. Well, we got to the master bedroom, and he was in there. In one hand, he was clutching a copy of Hegel’s Phenomenology of Spirit, and in the other. . .” He trailed off, unwilling to finish. Bonzo finally had the courage to finish the story. </p><p>“His dick was stuck in a coke bottle.” </p><p>“I’m sorry what?” Rogers burst out at the same time, the New one lying facedown on the floor so as to not lean on the porcupine needles. Robert was in the very back alone, trying to convince George to behave himself, only really succeeding in alarming the animal more. </p><p>“It was stuck, cause- here’s the thing about the zodiac killer’s dick, right, it’s kinda. . . curvy?”</p><p>“Like a question mark.” John said.</p><p>“No, I’d say it was more like. . . You all know those fancy ‘and’ signs?” Bonzo asked the van at large. </p><p>“Ampersands?” Jonesy offered.</p><p>“Ha, virgin.” </p><p>“What? You know that isn’t true-”</p><p>“Half of this van knows,” Jimmy added haughtily from the front passenger’s seat.</p><p>“Oh, you want to go, you little catamite?” </p><p>“Wait,” Bonzo said, while The Who eagerly tuned in to watch drama that, seemingly for the first time, wasn’t their fault, “Jimmy said that as if you two had. . . You didn’t. . . ?” </p><p>“Once.”</p><p>“Actually,” Jimmy sounded very proud of himself, “one and a half times, really-”</p><p>“Once. It was one time, several years ago.” </p><p>“I don’t know, I think one and a half-”</p><p>“BINGO!” Keith shouted, in the cramped vehicle.</p><p>“Oh, c’mon, you aren’t seriously keeping score of our sexual exploits?”</p><p>“You’re right Jones, I’m not, but if I were, I would’ve won by now.” Jonesy merely slid down in his seat. Noticing that Bonzo was seated immediately behind Jimmy, he leaned over and whispered something in his ear. </p><p>“No, honey, I’m not going to do that.” </p><p>“But babe-”</p><p>“Some of us are good people.” He looked around. “Actually, that may just be me.” Jimmy rolled his eyes. </p><p>“Don’t worry John, we needn’t fight for his honor. I’ve acquired someone more to my liking.”</p><p>“That’s it,” Jonesy declared, “two word suicide note: ‘Blame Jimmy!’” Bonzo started rubbing his temples. </p><p>“Hey guys,” New Roger pathetically whined from the floor, “It’s Roger, I’m on the floor. Could you maybe open a window or something? I’m having difficulty breathing.” Just as Pete started to do that, George began bleating at a frankly painful volume. Robert frantically tried to get the creature to stop, </p><p>“No! George, stop it! Stop! Hush! Bad girl!” </p><p>“George is a girl?”</p><p>“Her full name is Georgina.” </p><p>“You’re just saying that cause you thought she was a boy at first.” </p><p>“Can one of you please just punch me til I’m dead?” </p><p>“Oh, shut up Bonzo.” </p><p>“Guys!” John yelled, asserting his dominance as driver. “I will drive this thing into the fucking ocean!” </p><p>“As if, pussy!” </p><p>“Pete, why would you say that?” He shrugged. </p><p>“It seems like we’re all supposed to yell at each other right now.” Thank god, they pulled into the hotel’s parking lot. </p><p>When they unlocked and entered their rooms, the gang noticed that all of their evidence and antiques had been stolen! A hectic search ensued, which yielded no results. Throughout the process Jimmy, who everyone expected to be the most angry and motivated out of all of them, stood in the middle of his room, not moving. His countenance was that of the utmost horror and regret. Eventually, when they’d pretty much guaranteed that their precious possessions were nowhere to be seen- excepting their personal items, which the thief hadn’t touched- everybody gathered around Jimmy. </p><p>“Guys.” He finally spoke “Guys- I gave Randy a key to our rooms, in case anything went south.” </p><p>“What the fuck-”</p><p>“This is all my fault.” </p><p>“Actually,” Pete said, “this is all Keith’s fault.”</p><p>“How is it my fault?”</p><p>“Well, if you were never born, we wouldn’t be here, because three isn’t enough to even have a band. So it’s your fault.”</p><p>“This is all my fault. He’s the killer, and I led him right to us, because I was so blinded by someone affirming my stupid detective cosplay.” </p><p>“I appreciate your honest reflection, James.” </p><p>“Guys,” Keith excitedly suggested, “let’s circle of shame him!” </p><p>“We’re not going to-” Jimmy interrupted Jonesy. </p><p>“No; I deserve it. Please.” So they did. Standing in a circle around James, pointing at him, for the first ten minutes or so, they stuck to the classics, mostly just yelling the word shame. Slowly, the insults transitioned into more specific, hurtful, and irrelevant points, but Jimmy didn’t get mad. He just stood in the middle with crossed arms and distant eyes, trying to burrow into his stupid sweater-vest (He only wore it because Ernestine had knit it for him). Eventually, Robert started to feel bad and broke the whole thing up. Only then did it hit Jimmy; he actually started to break. Feeling genuinely bad and uncomfortable, the gang struggled for several minutes to find the emotional salve he needed, before Jonesy struck gold. </p><p>“How about,” he spoke very slowly, so he could be understood, “you call Vanessa? I think her birthday’s coming up.” Everyone in the Zeppelin crew seemed to think that was a brilliant idea, and as Jimmy punched numbers into a telephone, the vibes went more or less back to normal.</p><p> Roger was confused. He pulled Jonesy aside and asked him who Vanessa was. Jonesy explained,</p><p>“Vanessa is Jimmy’s cousin.” As he led Roger out of the room. As soon as they exited it and closed the door, however, he confidentially whispered, “‘Vanessa’ is Jeff Beck. Robert does not know this and you are not to tell him under any circumstance.” </p><p>“Sure.” At that moment, New Roger entered the room, having quickly run to see if any employees knew anything about porcupines. Jonesy and Roger were hit with a wave of guilt; in all their searching and shaming, they’d forgotten that their new ward still looked like a slutty little pin-cushion. </p><p>“Guys, the nice lady says I’ll probably have to go to the hospital.” Robert immediately offered to take him, and Old Roger said he’d accompany them for protection. Jimmy, still gleefully telling ‘Vanessa’ about one of his new guitars, nodded his consent quickly, shoving his card into Robert’s hands. </p><p> </p><p>Inside the van, New Roger stretched out, enjoying the privilege of laying face-down on the middle row’s seats instead of the floor. </p><p>“How do you two put up with those guys?” They both shrugged. </p><p>“I am dedicated to a philosophy of love and tolerance.” </p><p>“Meanwhile, if I punch one of those fuckers, I get kicked out of the band forever, so, you know.” Roger said it like a joke, but the defeatedness was audible. Robert confided, </p><p>“I have my own little ways of entertaining myself.” </p><p>“Oh? Do share.” </p><p>“Well,” as Roger swerved to avoid hitting a dove, Robert explained, “I like to pretend to be much dumber than I actually am, to see how lowly the others think of me.” New Roger looked up at him with concern. </p><p>“And that’s fun?” Robert nodded. </p><p>“Yeah. From my perspective, <em> I’m </em> the one proving how gullible <em> they </em> are. Jonesy literally, actually believes that I’m afraid of vacuum cleaners, like a dog.” </p><p>“Doesn’t it make you feel bad that they think so lowly of you?” </p><p>“Well, Bonzo knows how smart I actually am. Jimmy’s learning. Even Jonesy. Also, I don’t know why people worship intelligence above all else; I’m satisfied with the person that I am, regardless of stupidity. And I know they are too, elsewise they wouldn’t be my friends.” </p><p>“Damn, you really do have it all figured out, huh flower boy?” </p><p>“Don’t feel bad New Roger, you’re only a kid. When I was your age- well, let's not even talk about that.” But they did, trading awkward teenage anecdotes all the way to the hospital. </p><p> </p><p>Meanwhile, the others had settled into their rooms for the rest of the quickly-ending afternoon. Since Vanessa had to go back to sleep, Jimmy was relaxing by laying down spread-eagle on the bed with a wet rag placed over his eyes. Jonesy hated that he knew that it was Jimmy’s twelfth favorite scarf. While Pete showered, John kept trying to convince Keith to have sex. He wouldn’t because of what happened last time, and yet was too embarrassed to clarify his reasoning. This was unusual for him, but today had been unusual. Keith assumed that he was probably just upset about the antiques which, to be fair, he was extraordinarily upset about. John, frustrated and confused, figured he’d just go grab Jonesy real quick while Bonzo busied himself bathing that damned goat. </p><p>The other Johns were indeed trying to shampoo George, who did not enjoy it at all. John didn’t know if they were doing this on Robert’s instructions or just to occupy themselves while Jimmy sunk into his own mercurial self-loathing under that stupid frilly rag. </p><p>“Jonesy, hey, pst. Come here.” Jonesy was eager for an escape from George’s antics, although the mild success they’d achieved was only possible with their specific combination of extreme force and psychological torture. </p><p>“What do you want?” </p><p>“Sex.” Jonesy was taken aback, although John thought that he must appreciate his honesty. </p><p>“Wha- I’m bathing a goat. I’m dating someone else. <em> You’re </em>dating someone else.” </p><p>“Yeah, but, you know about-”</p><p>“I thought we said that only applied on Jewish holidays.” John seriously considered smacking his own face. </p><p>“Why do we have to be so fucking weird?” </p><p>“Hey, it wasn’t my idea. Anyway, if that’s what you want, Keith is right there.” </p><p>“I don’t know, he’s just not in the mood all of a sudden. And here <em> I </em> am, hard as a towel rack-“</p><p>“And you figured you could just yank me aside for five minutes?” Jimmy scoffed from the bed, which quite frankly spooked them, as they had assumed that he was either asleep or so deep into meditation or whatnot that they wouldn’t be bothered. </p><p>“If you want your lover to become horny without just putting effort into it, simply mix yourself a bucket of buck-goat’s gall, incense, and nettle seed, lube up with that, and thank me in the morning.” The bassists exchanged a look. </p><p>“Is that. . . Black magic?” </p><p>“When a wise man such as myself offers you advice, you take it.” He said all of this without taking the towel off, or even moving at all.</p><p>“Where the fuck is he supposed to get goat’s gall?”</p><p>“Robert has a goat.”</p><p>“You’re suggesting we slice it open so John can get his dick wet?” </p><p>“Stop talking, you’re stressing me out.” Jonesy just sighed and opened the bathroom door, leaning on the frame. </p><p>“Baby?” </p><p>“Yeah?” Bonzo looked up from George, while still holding her down.</p><p>“Do you want to have a three way?”</p><p>“If it’s three Johns, we get to call it Johncest or Trijohn or something.” John Entiwistle added from over the much smaller man’s shoulder. </p><p>“I’m kind of in the middle of something.” </p><p>“Just rinse her off, she doesn’t need conditioner.”</p><p>“No, I’m already halfway through the conditioning process.” </p><p>“If you don’t want to do it, that’s fine.” </p><p>“No,” Bonzo said, “we can do it, just help me with George first.” Surprisingly, they actually cooperated. As the Johns exited the room, however, they were met with another obstacle. James Patrick Page. Bonzo hoisted that man right over his shoulder, carrying him halfway to the bathroom before Jimmy noticed and started resisting. </p><p>“Just, take a nice, warm shower, okay? That’ll calm you down.” What ensued was a tense argument, one Jimmy against three Johns, allowing George to slip out of the room. </p><p> </p><p>Robert and Roger were kind of bored in the waiting room. New Roger didn’t want them to see the doctor pluck the spines out of him. They decided to gossip. Roger told Robert about Keith’s weird friendship with his uncle’s mail-ordered wife. Robert told Roger that Bonzo used to steal cars for a living. Roger told Robert that Pete wanted a white tiger as a status symbol but was afraid of cats. Robert told Roger about Jimmy’s sex magic. Roger told him about John’s coffin collection. Wondering how to up the ante, Robert leaned into his alleged doppelgänger, and whispered,</p><p>“I think Jimmy might have fucked his cousin.” Roger was taken aback. </p><p>“Wh- how- what the hell Robert?” </p><p>“He calls her all the time, and he always talks in this really flirtatious tone. Actually, it’s not even flirty, it’s just kind of. . .” He struggled for the word, “Intimate? I don’t know, he talks to Vanessa like she’s an old lover, like there are no boundaries between them. It makes me uncomfortable.” </p><p>“Oh, Vanessa.”</p><p>“Has he said something?” </p><p>“No, no,” Roger quickly backtracked. “It’s just, he called her tonight, right? I just, yeah, I’ve heard the way he talks to her. It is weird.” How the hell was he going to keep this a secret? Robert was clearly far more intuitive than Jonesy had expected, but he probably wouldn’t like the real answer any better. Roger changed the subject, </p><p>“You know about those altoids mints?”</p><p> </p><p>Pete and Keith were trying to fill the antique-shaped holes in their hearts in the big, industrial hotel kitchen. They quickly realized that this wouldn’t work, but kept going anyway. Keith had been struck with inspiration for one of his inane little recipes, and was excitedly running around, rummaging through cabinets and refrigerators. He hauled a pot out, and even put a stupid little chef hat on. Pete tried to figure out where all the actual employees had gone, but decided that he probably didn’t want to know. </p><p>Keith’s little disaster stew had started to boil. To his credit, Keith had somehow become single-mindedly focused on the task at hand, hardly saying a word or looking up. Pete was fascinated, watching the whirling dervish of a man slow down and dedicate himself to a single, simple task. Keith added a huge, industrial can of pre-sliced pineapple to the bubbling bone broth, already full of whole onions and sliced veal. Keith’s choice of seasoning was also somewhat eccentric, consisting of a hallucinatory combination of sugar, cinnamon, curry powder, buttermilk, orange juice, and mint. Just as Pete thought that, Keith found a bottle of hot sauce. It too was industrial, the kind so purely concentrated that you were only supposed to add a few drops in a giant vat to make it spicy. Keith started violently squirting it into the pot. </p><p>A few moments later, Keith apparently determined the pot of muck he’d created to be finished. He tasted it, made a truly grotesque face, and then started squirting in more of the chili sauce. </p><p>“Keith I really don’t think you’re supposed to add that much.” Keith ignored him. “Keith. Keith, stop it, come on.” He refused. Pete grabbed his arm, trying to pry the large orange bottle out of his hands. In the ensuing struggle, Keith inadvertently pointed the stream of industrial-grade fire sauce right at Pete’s face! He suddenly started quaking, in the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. He couldn’t see, smell, taste, or even hear anything but agony. </p><p> </p><p>When the blonds returned to the hotel, George was in the lobby waiting for them. She hopped right into Robert’s arms, and the two had a very blissful reunion. That was their last moment of peace before Keith came bolting towards the door, Pete in tow. The latter’s- already abhorrently large- face was swollen and red, as if he’d stuck it inside a hornet’s nest. The odds of that were not as slim as any of them would have liked. </p><p>“Grab your goat and get to the van! There’s no time to lose!” </p><p>The drive to the hospital was tense. George still hated the car, but this time Robert was more concerned with Pete. Keith tried to tell them what happened, but panic had gripped him too, and he was having a hard time putting an entire sentence together. Pete, additionally, wouldn’t stop screaming, and Roger, in his intense worry, was driving irrationally and far over the speed limit. It started to rain. Keith thought that if Pete stuck his head out the window, that might help. It did not. </p><p> </p><p>Three Johns lay on one bed, exhaustedly sharing a blunt and talking about flexibility while Jimmy lay upon his own bed, battered and frail. He wondered idly when Robert would be back. The wet scarf wasn’t working anymore, and he couldn’t remember which essential oil he was supposed to rub upon his upper lip for stress. Robert would know. It seemed too much effort to pull the covers over himself, but he didn’t know how he felt about his coworkers seeing him wet and naked. It’s not like they’d never seen the sight before, but it’s more pathetic when he’s simply too lazy to shroud himself. Besides, Jimmy doesn’t even have any kind of tasty foodstuff with which to coat his genitals. </p><p>“John,” all three looked up at him, hilarious! “John Bonham?”</p><p>“Yeah?” </p><p>“Go downstairs and grab me some honey or ice cream or something.” </p><p>“Jimmy I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, I’m not your secretary.” </p><p>“Hm. Make note of that, Jones.” </p><p>“I’m not your secretary either.” </p><p>“Entwistle?” </p><p>“You can afford to pay someone to do that job; I won’t do it for free.” </p><p>“I hate you all.” </p><p>“Do you guys start every band meeting with Bonzo reading the minutes?” Entwistle asked. </p><p>“No,” Jonesy explained, “because Bonzo doesn’t know how to read.”</p><p>“Oh my god!” Bonzo erupted. “How many times do I have to tell you!? I know how to read, I just forgot for a year!” </p><p>“You forgot how to read? For all of nineteen sixty-nine? And then miraculously remembered as soon as I noticed? Give me a break. You hired a private tutor as soon as we got some money, because you were too embarrassed to admit to us that you can’t read.” </p><p>“What is wrong with you?” </p><p>“I’m always right; it is equal parts a curse and a blessing.” Jimmy unfurled himself very slightly, stretching out like a languorous cat, utterly shameless. John wondered aloud what Keith was doing. </p><p> </p><p>Keith was crying in the ER waiting room. There was, luckily, enough room for Pete to go in immediately, so now he was alone with his guilt and two vocalists. New Roger- another person he’d been responsible for who’d come to harm- had gone down to the gift shop to try and find a blanket or a cookie or something. Old Roger and Robert sat on either side of him, trying to get the full story out so they could fill out the little worksheet. He wasn’t sure he could tell them without frightening them. Both of the singers were so sweet, so delicate in nature, how could they bear it? </p><p> </p><p>“Jimmy?” Said man was under his covers now; even his cute little baby face was buried in the pillows. Nonetheless, Bonzo decided to ask him a question which had, by the look of his face, been seriously disturbing him. Jimmy made a noise. “Jimmy?” It took another minute to finally draw him out of the eiderdown paradise he’d swaddled himself up in. </p><p>“What do you want?” </p><p>“Remember when we got those comically large turkey legs?” </p><p>“What? Oh, at Disneyland, right. What about it?” </p><p>“I heard that those are actually emu.”</p><p>“What?” </p><p>“Emu. It’s a bird.” </p><p>“Baby where did you hear that?” Bonzo hesitated. </p><p>“I don’t remember. But I was just thinking about it, and those didn’t taste like turkey to me.” </p><p>“Did they taste like chicken?” John Entwistle sure was a funny guy, haha, real knee-slapper. </p><p>“No; it was more like a mix of spotted owl and bald eagle.” Everyone looked at Bonzo. </p><p>“You’ve eaten- aren’t both of those animals endangered? Like, as in, illegal to eat?”</p><p>“Well, you all eat veal, so.” </p><p>“Cows are okay to eat.” </p><p>“No they aren’t, John! Look in their big, soulful eyes.” </p><p>“But bald eagles-”</p><p>“Birds are Satan's greatest instruments.” Jimmy laughed, because he wasn’t paying attention and he thought they were just being sexist. </p><p>“You got that right!” The Johns ignored him.</p><p>“Bonzo, who is selling you owl meat?” </p><p>“I belong to a small community of men of good taste.” </p><p>“You fucking psycho.” </p><p>“Hey, don’t knock it til you try it! Actually, most restaurants will serve you rare bird meat if you only say the code.” The bassists exchanged a look. </p><p>“And the code is?” </p><p>“Can I get a to-go box?” They tried not to laugh. Poor sweet simple country boy. The bassists let him believe that he’d never consumed one of his precious cows, while also wondering how this had slipped by him if he could taste the difference between eagle and owl. </p><p> </p><p>When the blonds finally dragged a temporarily-blind Pete and an emotionally-distraught Keith into the hotel, everyone seemed to be napping in Led Zeppelin’s room. It was a bit odd that Jimmy had one queen bed all to himself while the Johns clung together on the other, but they were too tired to question it. Robert used George to rouse everyone to go have dinner. </p><p>The hotel kitchen was ‘experiencing difficulties,’ and then every restaurant they went to refused to let any of the blonds in, on the basis of a seemingly-universal “No shirt, no shoes, no service,” policy. Finally, they pulled into a drive-through. New Roger thought it would be fun to head to a drive-in movie, and for once, everyone happily agreed. They’d had a long day. </p><p>The only film available was a horror flick called “Children Shouldn’t Play With Dead Things.” Even though it was PG, New Roger was horrifically afraid, and spent the entire time cuddled up with the other blonds. This horrified Jimmy, as he started having a hard time telling the three of them apart. In his tired eyes, they formed almost one abhorrent monster, a three-headed pile of affection and nonsensical truisms. He shuddered, and allowed Bonzo to awkwardly try and comfort him, thinking he was afraid of the film. Which was absurd, really, Jimmy knew the satanist spells in the film had nothing on the real shit. </p><p>As the gang returned to the hotel, they felt better, having almost forgotten about the fact that the goddamned Zodiac killer knew where they were sleeping. New Roger got a whole new room with George even, and as the frontmen had a four way in the shower, they did so with enthusiasm and optimism, uncharacteristic for the investigation as a whole. Everyone actually slept well. It was a beautiful night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This may not be the best, but it was the funnest to write.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Things Continue to Happen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The following morning, which was a Thursday in case anybody cares, the gang took stock of their situation. They had to catch a serial killer with some kind of magical ability and their address; convince the authorities of his guilt as well as their own innocence; and take care of a teenager, a goat, and a temporarily blind man. At their disposal, they had one man who could fight, one man who almost understood satanic magic very slightly, a handful of hippies and disaffected intellectuals, and one human hand grenade. What were they to do? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete was having immense difficulty navigating through the world, and had grown to use Old Roger as something of a seeing-eye blond, which meant that their only qualified fighter was more or less out of commission while he safeguarded the gangly poet. Meanwhile, New Roger could hardly go a few minutes without asking Bonzo or Keith some obscure drum-related minutia, and they did so love positive attention; that took their heads out of the game as well. Robert had fallen into domestic bliss, entirely preoccupied with caring for George. Neither bassist had particularly cared in the first place, but by now Jonesy was scared and John was morbidly curious. It was them and Jimmy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The three wondered if they could just do it on their own and let everyone else have a nice day. The idea was tempting. However, Jimmy didn’t think it was fair for them to be let off easy. If he had to struggle and suffer and risk, why should Robert get a fun day off? Stupid beautiful cunt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That led to the main question: what were they actually going to do? Barge into Randy’s house and demand that he confess? What are the odds that that would work? Kill him? Try to magick the problem away? Jimmy couldn’t witchcraft his way out of a paper bag. Jonesy saying that, however, proved to be a mistake; Jimmy withdrew into one of his silent little temper tantrums. John casually asked how many satanic rituals he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>performed, which the poor little thing took as another insult and accordingly fled to their suite, where Jonesy knew he was going to add a particularly vicious passage to his diary before slinking downstairs again as if nothing had happened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert thought it was a grand idea to train George to guide Pete instead of Roger. The singers had been growing closer and closer of the late, and they were a spectacular team. Robert drew out Roger’s loving, peaceful side and Roger encouraged his colleague’s harsher tendencies; if anyone would be able to accomplish such a feat, it would have been them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George had other plans. She was very much a woman of her own will, which Robert respected. She would not take responsibility for the sniveling composer, taking unimaginable joy in leading Pete straight into tables, winding her homemade leash around chair legs, and using the poor man’s shins as a springboard for her gymnastic maneuvers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert loved her too much to really put a stop to this behavior, but luckily Roger loved Pete too much to let it continue. Having declared the seeing-eye goat experiment a failure, the singers tried to think of a way to make it up to Pete. They didn’t want to do anything sexual after last night’s excursion, which ended with him projectile-vomiting the last remains of hot sauce in his system in the very nice hotel shower. They didn’t think he’d be in the mood for any kind of good food now that his taste buds were also temporarily useless. In fact, the only one of Pete’s senses that was fully operational was touch, which again, they didn’t want to risk. What were they to do? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The drummers were also looking for a fun distraction for New Roger. They did love having someone vastly interested in every minute detail of their profession, and there was no beating the elation of celebrity, but the lad’s unwavering admiration was growing to be an annoyance. Not to mention the naive idealism, which in New Roger was more pervasive than heterosexuality and more depressing to them than Kafka. They kept sending him on small errands throughout the hotel, but he was maddeningly efficient when Bonzo or Keith depended on him, or at least said that they did. They were, however, at a loss as to how to send him away for a longer span of time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey guys,” Robert decided to actually ask for help, “We were trying to figure out something fun that Pete could do while we’re investigating. Do you have any ideas?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But,” Keith sounded excited. Oh no. “I think I know someone who could come up with something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Roger! Get your skinny little ass over here right now!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bonzo!” Keith scolded. “Don’t talk about kid’s asses.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s nineteen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, he’s sixteen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s not what he told me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s odd.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lots of things about New Roger are odd.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it, guys?” New Roger asked in his suspiciously British accent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, we have a very important task for you.” He nodded. “We need you to take our deaf, dumb, blind friend out for a spin around town. Can you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I don’t know how to drive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s fine, just take him on a walk or something. Or, at least, come up with something that’ll keep him entertained while we go do detective work, and we can drop you off. Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine.” After Roger and Pete left, everyone naturally turned to Jimmy to tell them what to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so, there isn’t really a plan at the moment; who has an idea?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” said Robert, “isn’t there one other crime scene we haven’t reached yet?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is, isn’t there? Well, let’s head over there first. But then what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Keith offered his input, which no one had asked for, “I think a direct conversation is the only way to solve your problems.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You assaulted me with a tambourine for flushing your drugs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you for your comment, Roger. As I was going to say before I was so rudely interrupted, I think the seven of us could easily overpower him, and so the fiend will have no choice but to confess and atone, and everything will be solved.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, that’s a beautiful <em>idea</em> Keith-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which is why it will work!” Jimmy declared excitedly, mind made up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s one of those so-stupid-it-might-work ideas!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not convinced that it is-” But, bassists be damned, that was exactly what the gang decided to do. They first tracked down New Roger in the streets, and handed him a little wad of cash for entertainment and sustenance for the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If we aren’t back at the hotel before sunset, call the police and give them the address on the bedside table in the frontmen’s room. You understand. Oh, here, take the goat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She </span>
  <em>
    <span>has a name, </span>
  </em>
  <span>James. Here, Roger, listen. She needs to be kept out of harsh sunlight, she only eats dry food, if she refuses to walk any further out of spite just pick her up, no John don’t pull away there’s more, shit, uh, oh, whatever you do, don’t try to pour water out for her to drink, she turns into a murder tornado, oh also be careful of Pete’s delicate medical condition ok bye good luck sweetie.” He had to talk louder and faster as the van gained momentum. “Goddamnit Bonzo, you always go so fast. It’s my turn to drive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha, that’s what Jonesy said.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, Jimmy, your poetry’s bad and you caused your parents’ divorce!” Jimmy Page had a very awkward way of pretending not to cry. Eventually, the change of seating was negotiated and carried out, and Robert started driving. Curiously, this was only allowed provided Jimmy sat next to him, acting as if he was a teenager who was being allowed to pull the car down the driveway even though he was an adult who had been driving for years (unlike Jimmy who didn’t even have a learner’s permit). In his first executive decision as driver, Percy pulled into a McDonald’s to waste time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you all want?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Onion nuggets, obviously.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, babe, I have some bad news on that front.” While that heart-wrenching revelation took place, everyone else quickly ordered and dispersed a large sack of breakfast sandwiches before heading off to the scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once there, the gang poked around before discovering that which they knew they would find. A small can of Goya brand beans, used as a paperweight for yet another Zodiac note. The note insinuated that Roger should, perhaps, bathe in the Goya brand beans, which made him so uncomfortable that he went and locked himself in the van. It took eighteen more minutes of coaxing before he would open the doors and let everyone else inside. By that point, they’d successfully procrastinated for almost an hour. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the gang finally reached Randy’s, slipping out of the van with the speed and urgency of molasses, they found that all entrances to his home were locked. While Keith wanted to break the door down and Jonesy wanted to go back to the hotel, Jimmy resolutely decided that they should ambush him in the document bunker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bunker was freezing. Most of the buildings they’d been to had over corrected the Californian summer heat with their AC, but the bunker was probably enough to freeze water. It was colder and more arid than Jimmy’s heart or Pete’s genitals, which was honestly astounding. Scientists had previously thought that feat impossible. The gang were too chilled, in both senses of the word, to speak, instead moving together as a pack, no one necessarily explicitly making choices as much as letting themselves be swept up in the wave of their continual movement. They perused the shelves of files, which as they went deeper into the building ceased to be about the Zodiac killings and increasingly focused on American constitutional law. Even stranger, the unfinished concrete floor was suddenly replaced with beautiful inlaid wood, depicting various portraits of the grandfather character from that almost-decade-old situational comedy, The Munsters. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, the gang ran up against a large door. It was a thick sheet of metal and looked like a large, industrial freezer. Keith shuddered at the thought. Robert tried to push it open, clearly not expecting this to work. And yet it did. Everyone looked at each other one last time, not knowing what to expect, looking very grim indeed. No one wanted to put words to it, but it very much seemed like they were expecting this to be their final moment. Looking within the locked room revealed-</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shrine. A shrine? It appeared to be a shrine. There were candles, incense, flowers, miscellaneous offerings. The room was spotless, the floor clean enough to eat off of. The strange thing was the dedication. There were no figures or fetishes, nothing traditionally religious. There was only a huge, framed picture. It wasn’t of any spiritual figure, not of a dead family member or important figure. It was Ayn Rand. It was a shrine dedicated to Ayn Rand. The zodiac killer had a shrine in his bunker dedicated to living, breathing author and “philosopher” Ayn Rand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- truly, I don’t know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is like Jimmy’s weird Crowley thing-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, it isn’t, Crowley knew what he was talking about and had some pretty good ideas-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no time to get into it now.” Roger suddenly started talking like the leading man of an action franchise; evidently Pete had been a drag on his heroic potential. “Look, the fiend left a note!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Two notes.” Said Keith, pulling one out of his pocket, where he’d put it for some reason. Roger skimmed the one he’d found while Moon read his aloud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘To my beloved goddess, my shining objectivist pillar, Alisa; words cannot express my shame, but I must abandon your shrine for a short time. I have retreated for a short time to’- oh guys it’s an address- ‘in case you need me. Always, fondly, unendingly, with utmost affection and devotion, yours, Rafael Edward Cruz.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who the fuck-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the Zodiac killer, duh! Jonesy’s such a dolt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you would have let me finish, what I was going to say was: who the fuck likes Ayn Rand this much? Or, even, at all?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Architects and rapists, mostly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>note say, Roger?” Robert asked, suddenly taking on the affect of a useless love interest in a trashy adventure flic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘You fools, if you are reading this, then it is already too late. I have fled to’- an address,” here he and Keith compared, each note had a different address. Curious, “‘and you will find me there. But I will be prepared. Canada had better look out for the Zodiac- which has been there for over a year already. Bye faggots.’ Well that seems unnecessarily mean.” He protagonist’d up again. “We have to go there. There’s no time to lose!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but Roger, how?” Robert was eerily good at this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s for others than us to decide!” Robert could hardly reply but for a hearty gasp, and they fell together dramatically. The blocking was ideal, and with the gauzy white shirts and heaving bosoms, one could easily be forgiven for mistaking the scene for the cover of a bodice ripper. Jimmy made a strange noise, and everyone turned around to see him grasping the doorframe with tight knuckles and a very strange look in his pie-wide eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy, baby, did you just. . . You know. . .?” Robert said, letting his weight fall into Roger’s arms a bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” Jimmy quickly insisted, wrapping his little detective trench coat around himself tightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we’re going to Canada now?” John sounded equal parts incredulous and preemptively weary. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I guess there’s no other alternative.” Jonesy immediately fell by his side, and they started attempting to lock some logistics down. Roger and Robert were doing whatever they were doing while Jimmy stared at them with the cold, glassy eyes of a serial killer (funny that) so Keith and Bonzo decided to go be destructive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With practiced ease, the drummers worked their way through the huge collection of documents, smashing wood, ripping pages out, starting small fires, knocking down several rows of shelving like dominoes, causing a stir. Soon the dust from the old tomes was spiraling through the air, feeding the fires and thus setting off the sprinklers. There were pages fluttering through the air, until they too were taken out by the fire and the flood respectively. The place stank of smoke and then of wet pages, accompanied vaguely by the rank smell of fear. Not that there were any animals present with strong enough olfactory senses to detect said stench. This was nothing particularly new for either of the drummers. Really, they were almost bored. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we try to wedge the van through the door?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, I think it’d be better to simply drive it through the side of the house.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure that would damage the house more than the van?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“. . . ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Capital idea, Keith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful; we’ve just got to get the keys from Robert first.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I can- we don’t need the keys.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jimmy was on the phone with a plane company trying to purchase last-minute tickets to Calgary while the bassists called up hotels and rental companies, not wanting a repeat of last time. The singers, wanting to feel helpful, scoured the shrine for more clues. No one had noticed the devastation taking place in the majority of the bunker.  This may seem odd, but you have been deprived of a key bit of information. As the author, it is I who have the power between the two of us. All you know is all I want you to know. Do not forget. I am in charge. I outrank you. The rest of the gang didn’t notice the destruction outside the heavy meat-freezer-looking door because it was closed. Without consciously noticing, the drummers had locked their cohorts in an Ayn Rand shrine behind a soundproof door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This potentially dire situation was unbeknownst to them, however. John and Keith simply exited the bunker, entered the van, circled the house a few times to look for a weak spot. Circling the house yielded a curious discover: there was a pond behind the house. It wasn’t quite large enough to be called a lake, but it still seemed somewhat larger than one would expect from the word “pond.” Keith turned towards it without hesitation. John kept looking over, not wanting to say anything and be outed as a coward but increasingly uncertain that Keith planned to turn away. Just as he started to say something, the wheels plowed into the murky water, and their momentum slowed as the water pushed them back and the van struggled forwards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Keith are you flooring it?!” He was rapidly descending into panic. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax, I’m a professional.” Keith looked around. “Hey, roll your window up, quick!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get us out of here!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to be fine just- no seriously your window needs to be sealed shut, now!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about the ones in the back?” Keith turned around to check, and swore. They all rolled up and down manually, but there was simply no time, the water was pouring in already. He tried to reverse, but the tires got stuck in the muck at the bottom, and as Keith panicked and started yanking the steering wheel to and fro, pushing buttons and pulling levers seemingly at random. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, new plan, cut our losses and leave.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are we going to get out of here without the van?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, John Henry, I simply didn’t think that far ahead.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two staggered out of the lake, doused and put out and yet satisfied on a deeper level. They looked around, expecting five British faces of disapproval to immediately confront and chastise them, but were met only with silence. Odd. They couldn’t have left. Without exchanging any words, John and Keith walked into the bunker. They assumed that everyone else was still dealing with the mess in there, maybe trying to find them, and they hadn’t yet covered enough ground to go outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The bunker was evidently devoid of human life. Most of the shelves had been knocked down, so from entering, one could see almost the entirety of the space. That space didn’t contain any of their coworkers. Curious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where. . .?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like they could’ve gone anywhere. If they went to the house they would’ve seen us,” Keith reasoned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe they just didn't care.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe that could’ve happened if the bassists weren’t with them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well then where the fuck- wait, the door to the shrine is closed. I think I solved the mystery: they’re in there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You call that a mystery?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The real mystery is how we’re going to tell them about the van.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if we just don’t, and then when they’re like, ‘Oh no, whatever happened to our van?’” Here Keith did a startlingly accurate impression of Mr. Jones, “we simply say, ‘Oh, shit, I don’t know, it was fine the last time I saw it.’” His John Bonham impression was similarly spot-on. It was creepy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, how about you never do that in my presence ever again?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure babe. No, but, really, they’re going to be really mad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, maybe we can convince them that we were trying to wash everyone’s DNA out of it before we handed it over to the authorities.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think they might believe that, had we not destroyed loads of other evidence.” He waved his arms around them, to refer to the utter desolation wrought on the contents of the bunker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So we’re just fucked then, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know, I think they’ll be impressed that we managed not to injure ourselves.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sure Jimmy can take care of that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I think they’ll be glad that we did anything safely at all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You think so, Moon?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One time Roger asked me to go grab food for everyone, and then he spent, like, a week praising me for only getting half the orders wrong and not getting arrested, because that’s how low his standards are.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you kidding?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I am not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to step my game up, Jesus.” They had arrived at the impossibly heavy door. Keith gave a mighty yank, revealing that the thing was, in fact, locked. “Wait.” He tried another time, and Bonzo joined in. Their combined strength could do nothing. The door wouldn’t budge. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, we’re fucked.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>New Roger was beyond annoyed. He’d totally abandoned his own band at a chance to meet his idols, and now he was stuck babysitting Pete Townshend and a goat. He was sure the others were missing him, but he couldn’t go back until he had a bunch of really impressive stories from palling around with their competitors/heroes. He didn’t have any bassist encounters to boast about to John, he still hadn’t gotten all the drum information he was looking for, and both guitarists were openly hostile to him. He couldn’t just call Brian to brag about how Jimmy Page had stepped on his foot and then called him a bitch for it. He’d be laughed out of the room! But they were off doing some other thing that he wasn’t allowed to be involved with. So what was he to do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger took Pete and George to a park. He tied George to a tree, whistling a merry little Beatles song to himself (their unforgettable hit, “Leaving Your Dog in a Hot Car is Not Only Okay, but Actively Cool”). This backfired, as she decided to chew through the very nice braided leather leash that Robert had stayed up for four hours to make and follow him around. He cursed. Pete’s hearing was gradually coming back, enough for him to perceive sounds, but not quite enough for him to understand any of them. Thus, whenever Roger said anything, he became irritated and tried to verbally abuse the lad, hindered by his swollen tongue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was too hot to hang about outside, but Roger couldn’t think of anywhere indoors he could take a goat. He thought about leaving them at the hotel, a tempting proposition. But then John and Keith would be disappointed, and Roger couldn’t live past that. So he just walked them around the city, occasionally guiding Pete’s hands down to pet George outside of a shop while he went inside and spent money. That almost sounded like a brag, right? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hey Brian, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he imagined himself saying, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I went on a shopping spree with Jimmy Page’s money. You know, your hero? </span>
  </em>
  <span>That would have to do. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“All right, we’ve got to be at the airport by eight.” Jimmy announced after a long period of deliberation.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Baby, you know we all hate airplanes!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, can’t we just take a train?” Jimmy took this as a personal insult, and started running his hands through his hair, like white spiders crawling over the charred landscape of Mordor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A train from California to Calgary is two and a half days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are we in a hurry?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes! Lives are on the line, Roger! Did you all just forget?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind of.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know you people hate air travel-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if we just took a train </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span> from Calgary?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t it be easier to just fly straight from Canada to Britain?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or we could take a boat!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert, babe-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy, the door’s locked.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that complicated, Page, the door will not open.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well where is the key?” Nobody answered him. “Go, look for it. Move! Don’t just stand there staring at me!” While everyone scrambled to obey, the bassists inspected the door, trying to find a way to pick the lock. Robert tried to rip the tablecloth off the altar without disturbing the framed portraits or custom prayer candles, but succeeded only in making a huge mess. Roger started yanking objects out of their resting places seemingly at random, as if the key was behind one of them. Jimmy pretended to help, which mostly consisted of looking around without actually doing anything, still self-righteous and angry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think the door locks from the outside.” John announced. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I- wait, so, are we fucking trapped here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, Keith and Bonzo aren’t in here, so, eventually they’ll let us out.” Speak of the devil, the door started rattling, like somebody outside was trying to open it. This did not work. However, whoever was trying to open the door didn’t stop, pulling harder and harder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s locked!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy, I think the door is soundproof.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What? Nonsense! Roger, Robert, go! Speak!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe it would help if you wouldn’t talk to me like a dog, James.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Honey, baby, sweet melon, angel cakes-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys!” Roger shouted loud enough that the echo was literally painful to everyone. “The door is locked! You need to find a key!” He staggered back, gulping in air like a fish thrust back into water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ.” There was no answer from the outside. The pulling at the handle had stopped, so they’d probably gone to look for the key. Everyone waited another five minutes; nothing. The claustrophobia started to set in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It might be some time before they find the keys, so we might have to take matters into our own hands.” Jimmy slipped back into leadership like a child into their mother’s shoes, which were far too large for them. “I know we all have one thing on our mind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I propose we eat Roger first.” John said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s been five minutes John.” Jonesy’s disgusted confusion was so potent and visceral that it almost did a complete one-eighty into respect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Obviously Jimmy would be the easiest to catch, but he wouldn’t provide enough meat to justify it. Robert seems like a good medium, but everyone knows hippies taste like shit. Jonesy’s a pretty similar case to Jimmy, and besides, he annoys me the least. Roger, on the other hand, is small enough to overpower, but enough of a meal to last for a good bit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I was going to say that we should try to climb through the ventilation, but clearly John’s already got everything planned out, so I guess we shouldn’t bother.” Jimmy said, moving towards Roger and immediately getting a fist in his little face. He dropped to the floor and Robert screamed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, you broke his little nose! Although, I must say, if anyone has to kill Jimmy, I’m glad it’s Roger.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh you little whore!” Jimmy said, awkwardly picking himself up off the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, Rob, do you want me to kill him, or. . . ?” Robert let out an exasperated sigh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Roger, you see, whoever kills Jimmy, I have to sleep with them at least five times.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, unless it’s Bonzo, of course, because he’s my best friend and I don’t want to make things weird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, you wouldn’t want to make things weird- wait hang on, why?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s in our sex contract!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” said John, “you guys don’t, like, seriously, have an actual. . . Do you two really have a sex contract?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We don’t have a physical piece of paper that we signed, if that’s what you mean.” Jimmy said as Robert helped him regain his balance. The latter passive aggressively added, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That must be why </span>
  <em>
    <span>someone </span>
  </em>
  <span>keeps forgetting the rules!” Robert squeezed Jimmy’s shoulders as he said this, somehow managing to kiss his temple sarcastically. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So now that we’re not eating Roger,” Jonesy made a valiant effort to get them back on track, “who wants to go up into the ventilation first?” That question hung in the air for a minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Robert said, “John’s the strongest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whereas,” John argued, “Roger’s the smallest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Roger agreed, “but Jimmy’s the slimmest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Jimmy conceded, “but Jonesy’s the smartest; he’ll be able to navigate the best.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” said Jonesy, “I think Robert will do best, because he’s the most flexible and agile.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that conversation was entirely unproductive.” Roger said after another brief beat of silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The only question,” said John, “is which one of us is the most susceptible to peer pressure.” They all turned towards Robert, like flowers to the sun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, baby, could you?” Jimmy started hanging off of him, making himself appear shorter and more helpless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I mean, I guess-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Robert, do you really want to be responsible for us getting trapped in here?” Jonesy asked, also getting much closer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, guys, this isn’t fai-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, I don’t like it either, but I don’t see any other options.” Roger pleaded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like you’re trying to mani-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, kid, do you want us to be trapped?!” John could be very intimidating when he wanted to be. Robert looked around helplessly, before sighing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re all terrible friends!” He declared as he approached the vent in the ceiling. Everyone cheered. “Jonesy, give me a lift.” As said man approached, Robert suddenly became very authoritative. “On your knees, now!” Startled as he was, John Paul did as he was told. Percy made sure to step on his head once on his way up into the ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell was that about?” He said, trying to straighten his hair out. Jimmy just looked into the gap in the ceiling where his lover had gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That sweet, saucy little whore.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As Bonzo and Keith tried to break the top off of one of the massive bookshelves on the floor, they heard a thud from above. Looking up revealed a ventilation grate had fallen not two feet from where they were. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” They gazed up; Robert was in the goddamned ceiling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you guys found the key yet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Key?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The door locks from the outside, John!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, that makes so much more sense!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We were trying to find a battering ram,” said Keith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s bound to be a key somewhere.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Percy, maybe you should try to crawl over to one of the shelves that’s still standing and climb down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, what the hell did you guys do to this place?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You brought drummers with you; you should’ve known what a liability we are.” Keith said, still trying to pry off the top of the shelving. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I’m not mad. But Jimmy’s going to have a breakdown.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, just wait until he finds out about the van.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happened to the van?” Bonzo shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It isn’t important; just come down.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay!” Robert said, ducking his giant golden head back into the ceiling like the phantom of the Costco.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jimmy, Roger, and the bassists looked all over the shrine for something to do. They obviously couldn’t read the Ayn Rand, they’d already </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> sex. There were three phones in the room for whatever reason, so Jimmy immediately went to call Vanessa. John and Roger started playing red hands, until Jonesy wanted to join and it got too complicated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we just do truth or dare or something?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Truth or dare is always boring though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well I don’t know Jonesy, why don’t you come up with something.” He thought about that for a moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, whatever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Jonesy, truth or dare?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dare.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Um. . . Fuck I hadn’t anticipated that, uh. . . Go blow Jimmy!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Truth.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your darkest secret?” He paused, and looked down at his hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like hanging out with Roger because it makes me feel tall.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rough. Okay, Roger, truth or dare?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dare.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go blow Jimmy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come up with your own idea John.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dare you to try and suck your own dick!” Roger did try, but his little spine wasn’t long enough. Jonesy tried to psychically yell at Robert to hurry up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert was having trouble getting out of the ceiling. The bookshelf was narrow, and unless he was uncharacteristically cautious, his weight was likely to tip it over, injuring himself and one of the drummers, who’d stationed themselves on either side of it in case Robert missed the shelf and had to be caught. He didn’t actually think either of them could catch him without gravely injuring both of them, and a shelf could easily kill them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he decided to crawl back to the shrine, to try and see if he could tie everyone’s clothes together into a rope, like in a film. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Inside, everyone looked sort of irritated to see him. They’d obviously expected him to free them, and incorrectly assumed him to have given up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamnit Percy-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The drummers are working on finding a key, but the ceiling is too high for me to jump down. I simply thought I could make a rope out of your clothes-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert, my darling colleague, our clothes are too thin, it couldn’t support your gorgeous weight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was very sweet of you, Roger. But, what alternatives are there?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” Jimmy said, having just hung up on Vanessa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The ceiling is too high for me to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamnit, can you do anything right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Jimmy, you don’t understand, remember how high the roof is?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh I understand. Do it wrong so we don’t ask you to do anything, I get it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d like to see your little toothpick legs try to climb down from there!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, because you don’t want to do it yourself, I get it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy, that’s not-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, baby, whatever you say.” Robert allowed himself to get angry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you have to assume the worst of me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why am I always right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what? I’m calling Peter!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be my guest!” Jimmy gestured at the phone. “I just got off with Vanessa. She understands.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck you!” Robert lept from the roof with the grace of a big cat, hardly hesitating before striding over to the phone and punching in each number as if it had personally insulted him. Roger and John exchanged worried glances while Jimmy started pacing around like a caged tiger and Jonesy conspicuously sighed, clearly used to and tired of this routine. They looked over to him for an explanation. He leaned over and whispered, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My theory is that Jimmy, having the emotional maturity of a toddler, only knows how to flirt by provoking his query. According to Bonzo, he likes to make Robert mad because he just likes make-up sex. I think it’s some combination of the two, mostly fueled by his anger issues, lack of self-control, and mean streak.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the ringing stopped, Robert brightened up, twirling a strand of his mane around a finger. He was so apparently happy that he hardly even noticed the golden fibers tangling up with the giant turquoise ring he wore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Daddy,” Robert started his call, much to John and Roger’s shock and horror. They again looked to the other bassist for some explanation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look, he likes to flirt with the manager all the time, probably to make Jimmy jealous. We aren’t fully sure to what degree it’s ironic anymore, and we don’t really think that we want to know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, so like, did they?” John didn’t want to finish his sentence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think they only fucked once, personally. Bonzo thinks they haven’t yet, Richard is sure it’s happened at least a dozen times.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who is Richard?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It doesn’t matter.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Roger, imagine you fucking Kit!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’d call me Pete the whole time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And then he’d rummage through the clothes on the floor for money!” Roger laughed at something John said, a minor miracle. If Keith or Pete had been there, they would’ve wept; imagine watching Karl Marx have a beer with Adam Smith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god, Peter, you’re so right, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>look like a fetus!” Robert put the speaker down from his mouth for a second to shout, “Jimmy, we’re talking about you!” He then went back to raptly listening to whatever was being said on the other line. Jimmy shook his head and, with a little help, clambered up into the ceiling like some kind of long, pale cryptid. The three relatively normal men were left, once again, standing in a circle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we go back to our game, or. . .?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How about Jonesy reads us the Ayn Rand aloud, but does it in a really angry voice?” John proposed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to assume that’s a sex thing, but sure.” Their half of The Who laid themselves upon the marble floor of the shrine, Roger preparing to fall asleep and John prepared for god knows what. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“‘That presupposes the ability to think!’” Jonesy yelled, clearly pouring his own frustrations into the reading. “‘Thinking is’-” just then, the drummers pushed the doors open. John Paul looked up from the holy text for the first time in an hour.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, you’re back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We saved you!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s great sweetie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aren’t you happy to be free?” Robert had yet to acknowledge their presence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, thank you babe.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, the key wasn’t easy to find, we had to-” John was interrupted by Percy laughing raucously at something their manager said over the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, where’s Jimmy?” Roger asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Isn’t he with you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He isn’t, is he?” Keith noticed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shit, he’s probably lost in the ceiling.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Roger wasn’t up to much new, but it felt mean to exclude him from the narrative. His little drummer arms were starting to tire from all the shopping bags, but he had nowhere else to put them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete felt like he was in hell, and sort of regretted most of Tommy. He was so upset about this situation that he felt he had to go workshop a concept album about it, but one already existed! A paradox. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only question in George’s mind was who to hurt.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While Robert reluctantly tore himself away from the phone to go rescue Jimmy, the rest of the gang made their way out of the bunker, with the drummers trailing behind. When they saw the lack of a van, everyone turned around. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you do?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What we do best.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where is the van?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not here anymore, is it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Does it still work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Almost certainly not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goddamnit Keith, John, why do you have to-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually Jonesy, if you really think about it,” said Keith, who had never really thought about anything in his life, “the distinction between chaos and order is a false dichotomy used to legitimize state violence whilst demonizing the same actions from insurgents-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so full of shit, Moon.” He shrugged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It works on hotel employees.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello,” Robert said, walking out of the bunker with Jimmy held- seemingly against his will- in his arms bridal style. Said man was also immediately incensed at the missing vehicle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you two miserable excuses for human beings-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, be nice, those are our fr- Hey where’d the van go?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to have to hitch a ride back.” Jimmy was so tired and angry that he could hardly even react. He merely rolled over, sticking his face in Robert’s flowing blouse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s going to be in there for a while, let’s-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did you guys make up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the roof, yeah. I’m glad you couldn’t hear us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I heard,” Roger whispered, traumatized. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The gang eventually sorted themselves out and walked along the freeway in the vague direction of where Keith and Jimmy were pretty sure the rental place was, trying and failing to find a sympathetic stranger to take them away. When it became clear that hitchhiking was not an option for the seven adult men, they decided to split up, sending Bonzo, Jonesy, and Roger to the hotel to pack as much as they could while the others tried to get their hands on a vehicle. The walk was grueling for both parties, such that they hardly spoke, or did anything to try and distract themselves. Thus, it had been nearly four hours by the time the rest of the gang picked up Roger and the Johns. It took five more minutes to drive to the hotel. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they entered, the gang were relieved to find that they didn’t need to track down New Roger. He was in their room, sharing a small feast with Pete and George, very glad to see them. Leaping to his feet, he tried to tell them that Pete’s hearing was almost conversation-level, and that his taste buds had already more or less recovered, but they all pushed past him to stuff their suitcases with miles of paper-thin fabric in colors insulting to nature. Nobody seemed to be keeping track of whose possessions ended up in what suitcase, nor were any of them particularly interested in Roger or Pete’s presence. After a few minutes of awkward hovering, Robert told New Roger to go help The Who pack up their own possessions in their room.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he entered the other room, New Roger tried to ask somebody what was going on, but he went ignored. Assuming that he’d be told later, hoping that he was going with them, Roger went about scouring the room for possessions. He was immediately distracted, however, by one of the antiques that hadn’t been stolen from them. It was a very old bottle of cough syrup, containing the sort of ingredients that Roger was too intimidated to try. He assumed that it could be very valuable to someone, and tucked it away in his little jacket. By this time, everyone had zipped their baggage up and congregated in the hall, where Led Zeppelin had yet to join them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s taking them so long?” Said New Roger, who had yet to get with the program. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Either a dumb argument or a spontaneous foursome.” Old Roger put his ear to the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think it’s the former.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we get involved?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, Pete’s in there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanna wait in the new car.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay Keith, why don’t you go ahead while we wait?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want to go alone.” John’s patience was thinning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything with them takes ten times longer than it should.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but they’re our friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s just leave them behind.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we see what’s wrong?” New Roger said, opening the door. Old Roger had been right, they were all fully clothed, having a very tense conversation. Bonzo noticed them opening the door, and walked over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the issue?” He sighed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t take George on the plane.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I assume Robert is handling this with maturity and pragmatism?” Old Roger said, prompting a laugh from everyone within earshot. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s taking it real well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And our flight is in. . .?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“An hour.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Splendid.” They looked over at the argument, trying to catch someone’s eye. They managed to get Jimmy’s attention for a second, which he used to pantomime his own suicide before turning back to the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t see why we can’t just leave her with Pam.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That apartment doesn’t have nearly enough room!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok then, try putting her back where you found her.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can’t do that!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why not, Robert? Why can’t you do that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Percy, baby, honey, sweet pea-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you start that with me!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Percy, darling, what do you want us to do? They will not let us take the goat on the plane. Are we going to smuggle her? Are we going to hire someone to make a four day drive with her? What is your plan?” Robert thought about that for a minute, while Jonesy motioned for everyone to start clearing their luggage out of the room and into the new van. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After getting all the luggage situated, the remainder of the gang waited for what felt like an exorbitant amount of time for Robert, Jimmy, and Jonesy to make their way out of the hotel. When they finally did, it was with visible anger. Without a word, they all threw themselves into the van, Robert sitting in the back with the other frontmen and George, and Jimmy sitting in the front to give John directions. They eventually found themselves pulling up in front of an apartment complex, which Jimmy and Robert entered, again without exchanging words or even a glance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In the future,” Keith said, “can we limit them to one overblown petty argument daily?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ve tried; really we have.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m starting to lose track.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they even like each other?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Some relationships are just different, Roger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know that. I just- I don’t know, there are some problems that sex can’t fix, you know?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, speaking of, I should warn you: they’re going to be in there for a while.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Three way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” With that uneasy knowledge, there was little to do but bide their time and try to engage Pete in a conversation. He was slowly relearning English, although one of his ears was concerningly faring far better than the other. The van slowly filled with Old Roger’s extremely slow, well-enunciated speech to Pete, New Roger’s endless drum-related questions, and the bassists quietly discussing some stupid smart-person-thing. Eventually, twenty minutes had passed, and Page and Plant emerged from the apartment in considerably brighter spirits, even regarding one another with some newfound fondness. Keith gestured at them, exasperated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is what I’m talking about! They just love each other again! What the fuck happened?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They’re holding hands now; things are good. That should do it for today, but if we factor in air travel, there’s certainly more than enough time for them to do it again.” Jonesy explained all of this with the cold, clinical attitude of an accomplished psychopath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it like this when you guys are at work?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes.” The two parted, Jimmy planting himself in the front seat and Robert somehow squeezing himself into the very back with Roger and Pete. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’d made it into the plane, the gang found their seats with unbelievable relief; they’d almost missed their flight, as there had been a whole debacle with Jimmy’s suitcase. While he argued with the security team over his apparently god-given right to take whips on an airplane, the rest of the gang went to find food, dispersing like bugs when you lift up a rock. By the time they’d congregated again, Jimmy was just barely stumbling out of security. He wanted to eat, but they had to board instead, so he’d have to make do with pretzels and the squashed leftover panini stuffed into Keith’s pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They took up three entire rows on their own. Bonzo, being the worst about airplanes, got to sit between his best friend and Jonesy, leaving Jimmy to sit with Old Roger and the blind man, and New Roger got to sit with Keith, who ignored him the entire time in favor of John. The absurd new policy of giving out cocktails was a favorite with Robert and the Johns, while New Roger quickly made the entire on-flight staff hate him with his endless requests and pitiful attempts at starting a conversation. Jimmy couldn’t get Pete to understand anything he said, but he had very little in common with Old Roger. Surprisingly, Old Roger must have tuned into this tension as well, because an hour in, he turned his alluringly lumpy skull away from the window to honestly inquire whether Jimmy believed in god. Taken off guard as he was, Jimmy couldn’t resist the orgasmic experience of people asking for his opinion, and he managed to speak without pause for three entire hours.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete had no idea what was happening or why. Ever since Keith had pulled that little stunt in the kitchen, he’d been living in darkness, the lack of sensory stimulation enough to drive any man mad. He wished somebody would have the sense to give him drugs or something, but that had yet to happen. Having to trust the others was more exhilarating than skydiving; Pete was more terrified of vulnerability than spiders, snakes, or Abbie Hoffman, and now he had no choice but to let the entire parameters of his existence be controlled by seven alcoholic sluts who hadn’t finished school. He didn’t know why they’d been in the car for six hours, and he had no opportunity to find out. Without his hearing, he couldn’t even workshop a concept album about it! He figured he’d either turn this into a musical tribute to Hellen Keller or a short novella called “Pete Townshend: Alive and in Hell.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Old Roger’s stream of consciousness meandered like a child set loose in a park. He occasionally tuned into whatever Jimmy was saying, and made sure to regularly squeeze Pete’s wrist to give him some sort of sensory stimulation, but Roger had long ago mastered the art of looking concerned and attentive without putting any of the work in. He looked right between Jimmy’s eyes, to mimic eye contact with none of the intensity, furrowed his brows slightly, and let his lips part as if he wasn’t paying attention to them. From time to time, he’d bob his fluffy head, or pay attention for long enough to ask a question, but Roger mostly felt that he’d done his job in occupying his companions, and spent the entire time letting his train of thought ramble for three hours, occasionally returning to the same tangents, retrodding them ritualistically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert found out that the stewardess was allowed to give them cocktails, and their entire row immediately took advantage of this. Surprisingly, Jonesy was the most zealous, and took to hiding the novelly-tiny bottles of liquor provided in his pockets so as to acquire more than he was supposed to. He downed every one like a shot, getting impressively drunk within an upsettingly short period of time. The three of them carried on like this until they were forcibly cut off by staff, at which point Jones started distributing the little bottles he’d hidden until all of them were unconscious. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>New Roger couldn’t compel himself to sleep, suddenly realizing that he’d have to make his own way from Calgary to wherever the band was. Sensing his anxiety, Keith finally graced him with his wit, but Roger could barely hear, so distressed he was at the prospect of calling his boss and explaining that they’d have to fly him out from Calgary, where he’d let a bunch of strangers drag him on what seemed like a wild goose chase. Why didn’t he just part with them at the airport? Jimmy would have been ecstatic to refund his ticket, and he could’ve ended everything on a bright note and then gone back after an excusable two-day absence. Oh well, he was here now, so he may as well enjoy it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Roger proceeded to spend the rest of their flight trying to see if he could pick Keith’s pocket. By the end, he was four quid richer and ready to cry; whether it was from stress, exhaustion, frustration, or boredom, he didn’t know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a hellish three hours, the gang finally arrived in Calgary. While it wasn’t fun to haul their luggage and most of Led Zeppelin all the way through the airport, they managed somehow. It may have taken three taxis and an unreal amount of time, </span>
  <span>but by Canadian midnight, the gang finally collapsed in their hotel.</span>
  
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m just going to pretend that I *didn’t* manage to delete an entire chapter without noticing, it’d be cool if you guys would too.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. A Series of Value-Neutral Events</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>As the Calgary air drifted through an open window, John watched the sky go through progressively lighter shades of blue, hardly bothering with the pink and lavender colors that usually characterize dawn. As soon as the sun had fully shown itself, he coaxed himself back to sleep, knowing that nobody else would be awake for several more hours. He was correct; it was well past ten by the time that the majority of them were clothed and awake. Led Zeppelin’s Johns were hungover (a condition that Robert claimed and seemed to be immune to), so they were taking longer than everyone else. Not that everyone else wasn’t moving sluggishly; only Jimmy remembered the stakes, and he took twice as long as the others, primping his appearance, presumably so the Zodiac killer’s last sight could be an attractive one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Robert and John sat in the lobby, enjoying their delicious hotel breakfasts in silence, knowing that they had nothing in particular to discuss without bothering to awkwardly force a conversation. Robert learned that John didn’t care for green tea, and that was the extent of it. As the others slowly trickled downstairs to join them, the hall was filled with the sounds of table legs scraping the floors and chairs jostling as they dragged four tables-for-two together to accommodate everyone. This hotel was slightly better than the last one, so nobody bitched about the breakfast this time, which only fueled Percy’s cheery disposition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As had become their routine, the gang tried to plan the day, doing nothing in the process but revealing only their own incompetence. The biggest topic of conversation was whether it was warranted to rent a second vehicle, since there were nine of them and the van could sit seven. From this conversation came an idea: why not split into two groups, one for each address? Since the killer was almost definitely at the address he’d left for Ayn, Jimmy wanted to go there. He thought of himself as a man living on the edge, so he had to go where the danger was. But, just in case, he also wanted to take Roger, John, and Bonzo for protection, because he wasn’t stupid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since this plan would only work given two vehicles, the gang finished their conversation and continued to eat in peace. Eventually, they piled into the new rental (which, while not nearly as dangerous or potentially implicating as the last one, lacked its charm and character) and spent an unreal amount of time looking for a rental place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once inside, Jimmy proceeded to cause a scene demanding the cheapest vehicle in the establishment, a wish that the staff were shockingly reluctant to obey. After five full minutes of unproductive arguing, the remainder of the gang pulled him over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why can’t we get a good one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll be here, what, half a week? I’m not </span>
  <em>
    <span>made</span>
  </em>
  <span> of money, Roger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It can’t be that much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you people understand that I have paid for everything? Every stupid, trivial thing that caught your attention for half a second, I had to fund! We went to Disneyland, took a last-minute flight to Canada, the hotel is charging extra for whatever Keith did to their kitchen facilities, somebody stole my card and used it to pay tuition for fucking mime college,” while Jimmy went on listing everything the others had spent his money on, The Who all looked over at Keith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What have we told you about mime college?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s my true calling!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought that was drumming, or pranks or whatever.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Or mimicking The Beach Boys.” Pete had to add snidely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you noticed how expressive my face is, or how skilled I am at physical comedy? I was born too late to be a silent film star, so instead: mime college.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thousands of dollars on antiques, apparently my cash was used to bribe a police officer, some mafioso-front pizza place charged us thousands for one pizza that they clearly ordered from somewhere else-” it was amazing that his hair wasn’t literally graying before their eyes- not yet anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait- what are we going to do if we actually run out of money?” Robert considered, possibly for the first time since they’d left their homeland. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can pay-” John started to say while Jimmy said something far stranger, quickly shedding his stress like a snakeskin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy; we simply film Jonesy messily devouring a peach and then auction it off.” The aforementioned waif choked on nothing in his shock. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry what?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t be sorry; I know it was hard to hear with John yammering on. We’ll simply record a film of you eating a peach, seemingly the most innocent and innocuous of actions, but doing it in a particularly erotically stimulating way. We’ll have a couple close-ups of the fruit entering your mouth, using delicately utilized lighting to call attention to its peach fuzz and thus your own. Ideally you’ll be doing this nude-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t be doing it at all!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“-so the audience can see the sweet juices flowing down the narrow plains of your body-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy,” John said, aroused and perturbed, “how often have you been thinking about this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, I’d say roughly every night for a full year of my life.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby,” Jonesy leaned into Bonzo, whispering in his ear, “I need you to kill him for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As appealing as it sounds, I’m not going to do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“C’mon, just kill him. You know you want to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not how we solve our problems in a civilized society.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All I ask of you is this one favor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can’t you just sue for inappropriate behavior in the workplace?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is technically out of office hours, so.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayhaps, at the peak of this action, you could, I don’t know, start trying to lick the juice off of the forearm down which it flows, but, like, take your time- ooh, you should kinda lick and suck the juice off of each of your fingers, individually, start with just one, maybe work your way up from there, start sorta thrusting them into your supple lips so we can see your skull go back and forth with the force of it-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert,” Jonesy cut his guitarist off, “does he watch you eating fruit?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, mate, I think that’s just you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you boys made a decision?” asked the poor, innocent rental car dealer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, um, give us just another moment, please,” New Roger said, as somehow the only functional person at the moment. He didn’t mind if he had to ride on somebody’s lap. He turned back to the combined genius of two of the best selling musical artists, trying to get their attention as they called each other mean names in an incredibly basic and petty argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys, I think we should get moving, yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If Jimmy would see reason-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baby, remember that really sweet speech you gave at Disneyland about-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was out of my mind on heat stroke and painkillers babe, I didn’t know </span>
  <em>
    <span>what</span>
  </em>
  <span> I was saying!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Courtly Love can’t even provide his damozel with a functional carriage, wow,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can go in the nice one, I’ll take all the tough guys in the shit car with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You say that now, Jim-Jam-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know how I feel about that nickname, Bob!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, if </span>
  <em>
    <span>Peter</span>
  </em>
  <span> were here, I bet he’d get me the nicest car they had.” Nobody really had the emotional energy to unpack the “me,” as opposed to “us,” so they let that one slide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh you trollop!” Page and Plant exchanged a very intense stare for an  uncomfortable amount of time, chests heaving, eyes wide and alert, undistracted. It looked like they were trying to melt one another’s souls, such was the sheer passion. The dealer tried to ask, but his presence was ignored entirely within the tension. Finally, Jimmy broke away. “Could we just get something functional and average priced?” he asked with such defeat in his voice that one could be forgiven for mistaking him for a recent divorcee or the PR person for some kind of hedonistic rock group. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dealer led Jimmy with his broken spirit and trail of vaguely intimidating British musicians to the new car, while Robert took the others back to the van with the bouncy enthusiasm of a spoiled trophy wife (which wasn’t too far from the truth, really). Jimmy’s group started heading towards the killer’s residence, which was surprisingly downtown. Jimmy sat himself in the front next to Roger and navigated, while the Johns in the back became wrapped up in a tense discussion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on back there?” Jimmy said, in an authoritative tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we’re trying to come up with action hero one liners here in the car so we don’t have to improvise once we get there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s- not a terrible idea, actually.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any?” The frontmen thought about that for a minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re about to have five problems: one for every finger in my fist!” That was Roger’s best offering, met with a raucous round of those horrible polite pity laughs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If violence is comparable to an art, your body is soon to be the louvre,” said Jimmy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I feel like you could streamline that a little; it’s too wordy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something about our signs not being compatible? Because, you know, Zodiac? Get it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We get it Bonzo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Also your sign isn’t compatible with anyone.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off Jimmy. Geminis are unfairly maligned.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about, ‘This is my fist speaking’?  Like ‘This is the Zodiac speaking?’” Roger made another earnest attempt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should all be banned from writing forever.” Jimmy said defeatedly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will drop kick your puny lawyer ass all the way back to your stupid bunker.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The problem is that better-one liners come with context, so it's hard to come up with generic ones that are any good without knowing the layout and everything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not even a fun holiday or anything.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Something about us being British, maybe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If there’s no novel setting, sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert would be great at this,” said Roger, thinking fondly about their rapid-fire exchange back at the mall. Things were so simple back then. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think a simple, ‘Fuck you’ should be adequate,” said John, who never spoke anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if, instead, we were quiet, and used the element of surprise to our advantage?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy shit guys did Roger just have an intelligent strategic idea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck off John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, they reached the address, and were duly confounded. The address was that of the Foothills Medical Centre, an unassuming little hospital. Double, triple, sextuple checking proved that they had not made any mistake; this is where the killer resided. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All those people, already made vulnerable by infirmity, and now the Zodiac killer is there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We can’t just barge into the place and demand an action scene! There’s delicate machinery and shit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are we going to find him? Is he hiding, or undercover?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not like we can enter unannounced, that’s not how hospitals work.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can go anywhere if you look authoritative.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are we supposed to look authoritative? Jimmy’s in pink crushed velvet, Roger doesn’t have a shirt on, I forgot my shoes-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jonesy’s right, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> need a shrink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At least.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not an unreasonable mistake to make, I think.” Bonzo tried to defend himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe for a five year old.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay gang, let’s go purchase respectable clothing.” Roger declared in a decidedly protagonistic tone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” Jimmy said. “I’m the one who gives orders.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, please, by all means, go ahead then.” He cleared his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay gang, let’s go purchase some respectable clothing!” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert decided that he, Jonesy, Keith, Pete, and New Roger deserved to spend some time out on the town before they went to the murder cabin. As they haphazardly slung the van alongside the curb and piled out, the question presented itself: what is there to do in Calgary? Walking down the street revealed nothing of interest, but they were still determined to waste time. Jonesy insisted that the walking around was entertaining enough, but Robert knew he was just trying to make himself feel better. No one could be that boring, not even John. New Roger had something else on his mind, so he seemed unlikely to have any fun at all. Pete could barely see, and Keith could occupy himself anywhere. The best option seemed to be fucking around in a grocery for an hour or two. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The half-gang strolled aimlessly through the store, occasionally throwing something into the cart Robert had taken more as a manner of procedure than of intent. This was usually the catalyst for a small bout of bickering, not that money was an issue or that they had any reason to fight, it was simply a crucial part of the ritual. Keith immediately disappeared, returning to them with two jugs of Clamato and a single bottle of hard ginger ale. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the fuck is Clamato?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Clam mixed with tomato, obviously.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For what purpose?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mind your own business, Jones!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if instead of calling him Jonesy, we called him Baldy?” Robert said out of the blue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But he’s not bald,” said New Roger, furrowing his little eyebrows in confusion as he silently lowered a box of comically large pretzels into the cart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, we call him Jonesy because his last name is Jones, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Roger repeated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wrong! His real name is John Baldwin. Thus, I think Baldy is much more appropriate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Percy,” Jonesy spoke with the weariness of a man who’s had this exact argument dozens of times, “how many times do I have to tell you: Jonesy is a common nickname that real people are called, whereas Baldy is what my friends and I used to call our literature teacher in order to undermine his authority.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You had friends?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re the one who learned elvish for fun.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shows what you know, the language is called Sindarin.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jimmy really does have a virgin/whore thing, doesn’t he?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s internally inconsistent, you curmudgeonly chipmunk!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everybody listen up!” Pete said rather dramatically, thrusting his noodle arms out to either side like an animal superficially increasing its size to intimidate reproductive threats and predators. Everyone quieted themselves, and waited a moment for Pete to speak, which he did not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can’t rush genius.” They slowly nudged forward again while Pete took a moment to gather his thoughts. He eventually spoke up to list products he wanted, since their earlier system of ‘just grab whatever looks good’ wasn’t exactly working for him. This led to an unfortunate incident where Pete desperately attempted to communicate the specific packaging of the only brand of yoghurt he would eat, while the others tried to parse his vague, unhelpful, and often downright strange descriptions. This routine made the process of shopping far more frustrating and time-consuming than it need be, but it did help them procrastinate.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>None of the gang’s more intimidating half really knew how to shop for professional clothing. Jimmy and John had had to dress vaguely white-collar for a time, but hadn’t bothered to retain any of what they knew. The other two were only used to hard labor and then the music industry, neither of which had particularly strong dress codes. They were hoping to steal some lab coats under which they could conceal whatever they were wearing, but that plan could fall through too easily for them to depend on it. Jimmy and Roger had an especially difficult time searching for clothing that could easily accommodate their odd proportions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The employees at these reputable establishments weren’t much help either, alternately recognizing them or profiling them as useless hippies. Either way, the result was wariness and general uselessness. Tempting as it was to simply grab the first suits they saw, Jimmy chose to complicate everything. They couldn’t all wear the same thing, obviously, because that would be suspicious. However, it made sense to have one article of clothing in common between the four of them, because slight entropy created an illusion of authenticity. So said James, who had to be obeyed because he was paying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they traipsed through the various department stores, Roger felt an overwhelming sense of wrongness. What was it? Eventually, just before Jimmy accepted that his clothing would inevitably be far too wide for him, Roger figured out what it was. They were being productive. They were simply. . . doing what they came there to do, without complaining or hi jinx or anything. What the fuck? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mates,” Roger demanded their attention, and actually got it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>What the fuck? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Roger?” Jimmy asked, without berating him or dramatically sighing as if his participation was a personal insult to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on? We’re being, like, normal. What’s with that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My god, he’s right!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should I take my dick out? Should I punch Jimmy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, John, no. I am so hurt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ok, but if we broke Jimmy’s arm- which is already sprained, mind you- we’ll have an actual excuse to get into the hospital.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You make a brilliant point, John,” said the other John, and he threaded his arms underneath James’ to firmly hold him by the shoulders. The poor little sorcerer made a pathetic effort to struggle while Roger approached him, before simply going limp and trying to imitate Jesus. Luckily for him, Roger dropped his fist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Forced chaos just isn’t the same, y’know?” The response was a Greek choir of disappointed agreement. Bonzo removed his arms, allowing Jimmy to slip down the length of him and crumple onto a pile on the floor, where he stayed for a few minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Should we talk about funny sex stuff? I’m at a loss.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know Roger, we can’t force it. Let’s just keep going, and see if anything funny happens on its own.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What if I referred to masturbation as ‘juicing the grapes of wrath?’ That’s pretty funny, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Just as the bottoms were finally ready to check out and be productive, Robert spied something of interest. He rushed over into the canned goods aisle- which they’d already traversed twice- with eyes as wide as some sort of discular baked good, and grabbed a much shorter man by his shoulder. The man turned around, revealing an unassuming, confused frog-face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my god,” Robert exclaimed, “sir, it’s such an honor to meet you, I cannot tell you the impact your work has had on me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well thank you, it’s not often that I’m recognized in public.” The man was also British, how odd. Robert gasped at his statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You mean to tell me that people can simply ignore the great Andrew Lloyd Webber?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They can, unfortunately. For some reason glam rock-inspired broadway musical adaptations of bible stories just aren’t marketable to the general public.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s totally unfair, I loved both of your shows. So did Jonesy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whom?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m so sorry, I completely forgot to mention, I’m such an airhead- I’m Robert Plant, of international musical sensation Led Zeppelin. Perhaps you’ve listened to us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ummm,” Andrew searched his memory, “I think I heard of you, once, maybe?” Robert hand-waved that away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s fine, we’re definitely not for everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I’d say most of our work is better than fucking Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat,” Jonesy muttered bitterly as those two prattled on. Pete, Keith, and New Roger looked over for an explanation, which he did not bother to give. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Andrew asked Jonesy as Robert nudged him towards their group, “you’ve seen my work too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t remember, specifically.” It seemed like he didn’t want to say anything because he hadn’t liked it very much, but Robert didn’t pick up on that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember, that time we all went on that double date to the theatre? You don’t? Bonzo fell asleep three songs in, and then he snored like a chainsaw, right in the damned front row, but you refused to wake him up because you thought it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>so fucking hilarious?”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah. I mean, the play was good, I guess. I think the choice to have the pharaoh from the Bible story be an Elvis Presley impersonation was. . . certainly a choice. I mean, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I </span>
  </em>
  <span>would never be bold enough to do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your friend fell asleep at the theatre and you didn’t wake him?” Andrew’s disgust was palpable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d never seen anything funnier, before or since.” Andrew promptly turned back to Robert while everyone else started to check out and leave the store. They somehow, despite a total lack of enthusiasm and drive, managed to spend another thousand of Jimmy’s precious dollars- or, at least what seemed to Keith like the Canadian equivalent of a thousand dollars (so, probably maybe one hundred?). The oily young man with the recently-removed braces graced them with possibly the most judgemental look they’d ever received, and it was honestly anyone’s guess whether he did so due to their appearances, the loud and strange conversation Andrew was having with Robert, or the completely bizarre amount and variety of foodstuffs they were attempting to purchase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew followed them to the new van, much to the chagrin of all. Even though everybody kept looking from him to Robert incredulously, neither of them acknowledged the negative attention. Fine, Andrew was tagging along from now on. After five minutes of driving, Jonesy turned around to face the very back, where Broadway legend protégée Andrew Lloyd Webber sat alone, apparently unbothered by this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t you have better things to do?” He asked the little frog-faced freak. That led Keith and Pete to turn around to look at Andrew too- even though Pete could </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe </span>
  </em>
  <span>see the difference between his face and the seat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not particularly. Besides, your Robert told me that what you’re doing is of utmost importance, and that he’d collaborate on my next project.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Robert!” Jonesy snapped, turning around again fast enough to give his little self whiplash. “What have we told you about befriending the competition?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh come on, do you seriously-” he stopped suddenly enough to send everyone jolting forward, having forgotten traffic for a moment in lieu of arguing. “Do you seriously,” he continued, brushing his hair out of his face while they waited for a light to go green, “think that we have enough of a shared audience for there to be competition?” He let the question sit in the air, and then started the car with alarm when somebody honked at him. New Roger promised to glare at Jonesy himself, because Robert couldn’t safely drive and maintain an argument simultaneously. “I mean, the overlap in the venn diagram of our fans is three closeted Tolkien fans in the middle of Oklahoma. And- hey wait where am I going?” Keith handed the address up to New Roger. They drove along for a minute before Pete spoke. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jonesy, that thing you said about befriending the competition- what about us?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Oh, yeah, The Who, that’s right! You guys don’t count.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“As competition?! I promise you that-” Pete was about to go off, but you know that little John was so smart and so slick, he thought up an excuse- and he thought it up quick.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pete, Pete, baby, don’t be mad! We just- Jimmy already knew all of you guys before he was in a band, I knew Keith and John, so, we just, you know, we figured we already count as friends, the two groups.” Pete didn’t seem convinced, but he shut his mouth. Keith immediately remembered some trivial encounter they’d had, and he and Jonesy fondly reminisced for most of the remainder of the drive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The hunt for respectable clothing had taken a turn, as John had been pulled aside on suspicion of shoplifting. See, maybe wearing newly bought merchandise to a store selling near-identical merchandise had been a less-than-flawless plan on the part of Mr. Page. The other three anxiously huddled around the door for a minute, not sure whether they could leave before deciding that John could take care of himself. They quickly purchased the remainder of a full suit for everybody and then fled to the car, where they had been waiting for ten minutes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To combat the boredom, Jimmy whipped out a little book of horoscopes and studied it. Roger always thought it was funny when he concentrated on something, trying to look serious and somber with the features of a toddler. He knew it was sort of mean to infantilize him so, but he always puts Roger in mind of a child wearing their father’s suit, holding a briefcase and pretending to be a real, serious, adult businessman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s it say, Jim?” he asked, if anything to prevent himself from laughing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s your sign?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh, I think the monkey?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s your Chinese- when’s your birthday, Roger?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“March first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so, you’re a Pisces. Let’s see,” he thumbed through the little pamphlet. “‘A welcome communication from a business or romantic partner could arrive today. This could generate a lot of enthusiasm on both your parts and do wonders for your relationship or for whatever business you do together. Be honest with your partner. Don't conceal your concerns. It's better to get things out in the open. Don't worry. Everything will be okay!’ There you go.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know how it could be clearer.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I guess. Is there anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Avoid traveling west and eat as many electrolytes as possible.’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are electrolytes?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s mine? I’m a Gemini.” As Jimmy thumbed through the booklet again, John paid for the suit Jimmy had already bought him and made his way out. He was beyond incensed by that little escapade, and now he found that the others had simply abandoned him. As he approached the car, John noticed with increasing irritation that they were all merrily listening to Jimmy read from a little book.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Strange, passionate stirrings could find you wanting to escape from civilization with a lover. This is a great day for it. At least plan a quiet evening at home with your special someone. You might also want to satisfy other sensual cravings, such as a desire for delicious food, drink, or comfortable chairs or beds. Flow with it. We all need a little self-indulgence now and then!’”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Aw, that’s cool, I like mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you do, it just told you to do whatever you want!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s nothing wrong with- Oh, hi John.” John knocked on the window, to indicate that the doors were locked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, wait, guys,” said Roger, “what if we just. . . didn’t let him in?” The other two J-names waited a second for him to finish, but that appeared to be the entirety of the prank. Meanwhile, John’s rhythmic banging had only gotten louder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What does your horoscope say, Jimmy?” His hand immediately left the lock/unlock button and he flew through the book. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“‘Some new information could come your way that causes you to focus on a new interest. It'll set your mind traveling to faraway places and times. You may also communicate with some new people who are highly educated, from foreign lands, or both. They might have fascinating stories to tell! Whatever happens, today promises to excite your curiosity and stimulate your intellect.’ Ooh, very nice.” John had started looking directly at Roger, pantomiming various acts of violence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you guys know what John’s sign is?” They both shook their heads, so Jimmy turned the car on and rolled the window down (feeling very proud of himself for knowing how to do that much). “Hey, John, what’s your sign?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let me in!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah yeah in a minute! Why are bassists always so bossy?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not telling you until you let me into your goddamned car, Page.” Said man rolled his eyes, and called Mr. E. a buzzkill while he unlocked the doors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So what are you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tired of all of you!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When was he born, Roger?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“October something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You forgot?” John sounded surprisingly hurt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s the, um, the ninth, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. October ninth.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ew, a libra, disgusting!” Jimmy had to say that before he started flipping through his little booklet, while Roger tried to apologize. “Let’s see, it says: ‘You may have strange dreams and vivid premonitions today. Your intuition and telepathic faculties are operating at a high level. You could think of someone who later phones. There's also a tendency to be too paranoid. Don't panic if some of the messages you receive seem disturbing. Check out the facts first. You're likely to find that all is better than you thought.’” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh good guys, Jimmy’s magic book says I’m psychic.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, try to really touch base with that, see if it’ll help with the case!” Jimmy suggested without a hint of irony, glaring at the raucous laughter he was met with. “Daltrey, you remember the address?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then drive.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Robert’s little van of miscellaneous freaks pulled up to the address the killer intended for them, an expectedly nondescript little house with its yellow paint job slightly peeling and the blinds drawn. It was wedged in a strange corner of the city, its own unlikely little ally (which took them fifteen full minutes to find). Everybody’s guard was raised as they wandered out of the car and towards the little shack. They didn’t know why the killer had needed them to find that place, but it couldn’t be for any good reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Andrew, not really knowing anything was wrong, yanked the front door open, only to narrowly miss being hit with a giant can of bricks! </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was- was that it?” Keith said incredulously after a long moment of surprised silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that what?” Andrew asked, and everyone panicked, trying to come up with a way to explain the situation to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We, um- the house belongs to a friend of ours, a drummer, right? Very fond of practical jokes, and all that, aha, and, um-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The Zodiac killer sent us here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I see,” Andrew said, unbothered. “Well, we should be on guard then.” He proceeded to enter the house without the slightest hint of hesitation. The others took a moment to marvel at the man, and maybe reevaluate their assumptions about musical theatre professionals, before following him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suspended just over the threshold was a tripwire, which everyone stepped over but forgot to tell Pete about. Luckily New Roger was there to break his fall, but he then fell onto Keith and created something of a domino effect, and soon everyone was on the floor in one disgruntled, British heap of gangly limbs and women’s clothing. Everyone except Andrew, of course, who was far ahead of them, inspecting the abandoned little shack. The men slowly pulled themselves and one another back to their feet, just in time for Robert to notice something shiny on the floor and dive back down again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Percy, please get up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, there’s a note stuck under the rug!” He pulled it out, and then read it aloud as soon as he’d sprung back to his feet. “‘Dear degenerates-’ He really is quite rude, isn’t he? ‘Dear degenerates, you’ve failed. By the time you’ve read this, I’ll be long gone. Ha! I’m sure that you’ve already fallen for my traps, of which there are several more sprinkled throughout the house like autumn snow-’ awww, look guys, he used imagery!” He skimmed the rest. “Okay, he’s mostly just gloating about all of us falling for his traps, wasting our time- oh yeah, time. He said he went into the future.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is he fucking mental?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, he’s only a serial killer Ayn Rand fan, I can’t believe there’s something wrong with his brain.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shut up Pete. Did he really think we’d fall for that?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I guess he did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What an idiot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey guys.” New Roger decided now was the time to ask. “We’re not, like, actually trying to solve a real murder, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kiddo, we’re trying to solve, like, seven real murders, all carried out by the same deranged man.” Roger stared at the wall for a second, as Jonesy asked:</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What did you think we were talking about in the park? In the yarn shop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wasn’t really listening. And when I heard something weird- I thought, you guys are artists, I guess I thought you were working together on, like, an album or a musical or something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A musical?” Andrew materialized out of nowhere. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Andrew.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Robert.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no musical, Andy.” He nodded soberly at that, and sprinted back up the stairs. Robert’s eyes stayed on him, dreamily. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you can get him to kill Jimmy for you,” Jonesy said for some reason, eliciting confused noises from the other three. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, right, you guys weren’t there. So,” Robert explained again, “I have to sleep with whoever kills Jimmy at least five times. Unless it’s Bonzo, because he’s my best friend and I don’t want to make things weird.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, what if it’s Jonesy?” Keith inquired, that apparently being the only part of that confession he took issue with. “Wouldn’t that also make things weird with Bonzo?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a good point, Keith.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I ever kill Jimmy, then as far as you know it will be a tragic, unforeseeable accident.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That all ads up but,” Pete also had a question, “if your heart happens to stray, doesn’t this system create an incentive for you to take a hit out on him?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t just break up with him if I wanted to.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, but you’d never,” said New Roger, who was still young enough to believe in true love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I would, actually. It would be hard, granted, but I’m actually extremely attractive, talented, wealthy, and charming, also my personality is wonderful. So, you know, I don’t really worry about it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re</span>
  </em>
  <span> perfect.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I mean, I basically am. I only speak English and my lips are pretty thin, but other than that, I don’t really see any downsides.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes,” Jonesy said very quietly, forcing everyone to lean in to hear him, “I see you spill something on your hand. You look for a napkin, but oh no, there are none to be seen. So what do you do? Do you wipe them off on your pants like a normal barbarian? No. Do you get up and actually wash your hands? Of course not. You reach over to Jimmy, and very tenderly pet his hair in a mock display of affection. You only get positive attention for this, and he spends the remainder of the evening without a clue that the back of his precious head of hair is crusted with Ketchup because Robert was too lazy to find a faucet and wash his hands like an adult!” Everybody spun around to look at Robert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this true?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, um, it might be. Maybe. Wait, Jones, why are you so interested in watching my hands? Huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just noticed one night, and then I simply couldn’t unsee it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This time, as they drove to the hospital where the zodiac killer allegedly resided, dressed like a group of fifteen-year-olds stumbling into a Homecoming dance without any idea what to look or act like, the mood was markedly different. Something in the air felt off, and no amount of action hero one-liners could bring their spirits up. John had completely withdrawn from the physical world, glaring out the window and declining to speak, even when addressed by name. In a last-ditch effort, Roger suddenly asked, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, what’s the weirdest thing each of you own? I’ll start; I have a signed copy of the Bible.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Signed by whom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“God herself.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joni?” Jimmy asked with sudden, breathy investment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Norma Deloris Egstrom.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Whom?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peggy Lee, the classy existentialist.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, I have a collection of German kink magazines!” Bonzo added. Finally, somebody got John’s attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, what?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s like, really specific porn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“From Germany?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you even speak German?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s what makes it funny!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Jimmy tried to make it make sense, “you subscribed to a German kink magazine because you find something </span>
  <em>
    <span>funny</span>
  </em>
  <span> about reading porn that you don’t even understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just think it’s funny that they exist in the first place. Like, things I could never even imagine, and there’s a whole magazine dedicated to it!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’d never guess, but some guys apparently have a thing for diapers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Disgusting!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How many are you subscribed to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, let’s see,” he pondered that for a minute while Roger started driving considerably faster, desperate to escape the conversation that he’d started. “I think around twenty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Twenty?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s less than that, actually. I had to unsubscribe from Pisstrinkers because it’s honestly like 70% ads nowadays.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, how long has this been going on?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I dunno, how long ago was 1968?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Haven’t you ever been. . . disturbed by any of this?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I had to get rid of Tote Leibe for that very reason. That and Jonesy thought it might be incriminating.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jonesy</span>
  </em>
  <span> knows about this?” Jimmy asked incredulously. Since he’d turned around to look at the backseat, Roger didn’t bother to stop for the red light they’d come upon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s not happy about it, but he’s aware.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really?” asked John, who had thought he knew the other bassist. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Actually,” here Bonzo lowered his voice conspiratorially. Jimmy stretched his little neck to try and hear better, “he’s a little too into Monster Ficken for my comfort.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He says it’s a joke and stuff, but, like, I don’t know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Jimmy made the mistake of asking, “what does that mean in German?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well- how do I even?- You know, like, King Kong, right?” Thank Christ above, Roger pulled up to the Foothills Medical Centre before they could finish the conversation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay gang, are we all looking professional?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yessir.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I like your attitude, Daltrey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know if I like yours, Page.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Guys. This time it’s serious. We’re actually going to apprehend a killer. Are you all ready?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, for one, was born ready.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right; let’s go.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After thoroughly inspecting the house and finding nothing but some half-assed booby traps and a large collection of ugly ties, the half-gang found lunch and pondered how to spend the rest of their day. Maybe they could contact law enforcement, but why bother? They’d be dismissed, a bunch of hysterical hippies rambling about crimes from the wrong country, no evidence save a vague note. So what was there to do? They’d established the street life, only fucking Jonesy was amped about the cool new suspended walkways, but there weren’t really any events.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have any ideas, Andrew?” Pete asked in an attempt to make the fellow composer feel included. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not particularly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why are you in Calgary, anyway?” New Roger wanted to know. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Several compounding bad choices and one catastrophic twist of fate.” He answered vaguely and ominously, discouraging the others from questioning him further. That reminded Robert, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t we find some woods in which to wander?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because Pete is blind and I’m not sure anyone else here has ever been outside.” Keith said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve been outside.” Roger sounded awfully defensive about that, so nobody believed him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All the better! It’s never too late to get in touch with your primal side! Nature brings out the best in everyone.” While skeptical, nobody else had any better ideas, so before they knew it, Robert was in the driver’s seat once more, taking them in the vague direction of nature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Canadian woods proved to be more trouble than they were worth. Robert neglected to bring any food or water, nobody was dressed practically, and they weren’t even following a trail. It was allegedly more natural that way, said Robert, who had to be obeyed because he had the keys to the van. This effectively meant pulling over at an arbitrary patch of forest and simply walking away from the road, getting their clothes stuck on the untrimmed foliage and frightening wildlife. Percy seemed far more accustomed to bushwhacking than anybody else, and kept advancing past them. Nobody wanted to lose sight of him, as their guide, but every time they called him back he seemed increasingly reluctant to rejoin them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After what felt like two hours of directionless meandering, the half-gang arrived at a scenic little meadow. Robert promptly threw his entire length upon the forest floor. Keith, Roger, Pete, Jonesy, and Andrew (in case you forgot who comprised this group) all circled around him, dusty, disheveled, disoriented, and disgruntled. They waited a few moments for their beautiful hippie guide to say or do something; he did not. A few minutes passed. Keith saw a fox. Andrew helped Jonesy pull a clump of sap-covered pine needles out of his gingery hair. Roger found a bone thicker than his own arm, and chose instead to look at the scenery all around them. Pete grew increasingly angry, eventually yanking Keith to his side and demanding that the drummer describe the woods to him in all the poetic detail that it deserved. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s, um, there are trees, everywhere, and, uh-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Robert let a hint of annoyance creep into his voice, “you guys should really be quiet. It helps you rejuvenate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s grass, too- no, not the fun kind, I’m sorry to say.” Percy let his brows furrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s the point of going out into nature if you’re going to be stressed out about it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is this actually what you do whenever you disappear into the forest? Wander until you find a suitable place to lie down and do nothing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have a routine! I simply follow my whims, you know, </span>
  <em>
    <span>naturally. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Like, in nature?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So are you ever going to tell us what you do alone in the woods?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s deeply personal.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Earlier today you told a coworker, a teenager, two friends, and a stranger one of the clauses of your sex contract.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My relationship with Jimmy is entirely trivial compared to my relationship with our beautiful planet.” As that was incontestable proof, the discussion ended then and there. Robert got his wish, the other five remained largely silent for the remainder of his little play date with Gaia or whatever. The artists among them withdrew into themselves, appreciating the beauty what surrounded them, whilst Pete took a nap and the drummers threw things at one another. For half a blessed hour, it almost seemed like they were capable of having a nice afternoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, Robert stirred, somehow innately knowing that it was time for them to go. Which was good, since all of their groceries were melting in the trunk. They seemed to be going in a different direction than they came, but Robert was so sure of himself that nobody bothered to question him. Highlights of this trailless hike included Jonesy twisting his ankle and walking with a conspicuous limp, Andrew periodically chatting at Robert in a vain attempt to draw him out of his trance, and Pete punching in the vague direction of anything that touched him (mostly consisting of stray branches and Keith). Again, the path they took was meandering and one by one, the group started to feel lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they found the road, the van wasn’t there. Robert simply turned around, back into the woods. Everyone else watched him go with astonishment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where are you going?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm? Oh, I’m going to find the van.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, it’s clearly further on the road.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Walking on the road is no fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know guys,” said New Roger, “he seems to know what he’s talking about.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, kid,” said Pete, following his prejudice against Rogers, “you can follow Goldilocks back into the woods, the rest of us are going to do the logical thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to go with Robert,” said Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s too bad, unless Andrew wants to escort me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I do not.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just you and me, Moon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But Jonesy!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine, I’ll take him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pete and Jonesy had a grueling walk on the unshaded road in July, Pete frequently within a hair’s breadth of vehicular demise. Not unlike Jimmy’s Frontierland nightmare, the heat combined with their stress and exhaustion to alter their minds slightly. Pete regularly asked whether John remained with him. He could vaguely see another person walking alongside him on the road, but that could be Death himself for all he knew. Frustrated, Jonesy eventually stopped answering, letting Pete’s paranoia run rampant. He was decreasingly sure that they were going the right way, but they were at least going towards the city, so if worst came to worst, the others would at least find them. Once, Pete tried to lunge at him, but his depth perception just wasn’t there yet, and he recognized the shout he heard as distinctly Jonesy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, they arrived at the new van- only to find Keith, Robert, and the rest already in the van waiting for them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, hi guys.” Roger said as they entered the vehicle, battered and broken and visibly bewildered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How?” was all Jonesy had to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How are you guys already here?” Pete demanded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The woods led us,” Robert explained, prompting several more questions than he had answered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drop it, Pete. Let’s just go home.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>When they returned to the hotel, the gang noticed that they had seventeen unheard messages on their answering machine. That was odd. Jonesy went to go look through them and try to get whatever it was sorted out. While he took care of business, Robert started preparing a disgusting, hallucinatory slurry of absinthe, strawberry champagne, and herbal tea- just a Pepsi for New Roger- which everyone reluctantly sipped at to make him feel better. He also whipped up a cute little charcuterie board, gently placing it on the bedside table like a perfect housewife. As the others sat around eating and making pleasant conversation about nothing important, Jonesy’s voice from the other room slowly increased in volume. No one could fully make out what he was saying, but his mounting distress became distracting. Pete squinted towards the wall, searching for movement that didn’t exist, while Keith, Robert, Roger, and Andrew exchanged awkward glances. The silent question: </span>
  <em>
    <span>should somebody go check on him? </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>But before they could, Jonesy loudly slammed the phone back into its cradle. At the same time, there was a knock at the door. Robert got up to answer, revealing the remainder of the gang. Bonzo immediately tried to make what looked like an urgent announcement, stepping into the room and raising his voice over everyone’s idle chatter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, so, aha, guys, you’re not going to fucking believe this, but,”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?” asked New Roger. But before he could answer, Jonesy also dashed into the room, taking all of the drummer’s attention. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell happened, John?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How do you know about-”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Peter called. No less than fifteen times.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How did </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> find out?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s going on?” New Roger asked again, interrupting them. Jonesy, in lieu of answering directly (he had a much better sense of dramatic timing than his lover), walked over to turn on the television set, and then queued it to the local news station. Unfortunately, the universe didn’t share his perfect timing, so the newscaster hadn’t gotten to the relevant story yet. While everyone stood around anxiously waiting for her to finish jabbering on about misappropriated funds for this year’s Calgary Stampede, the tension and silence in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, the relevant bit came up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In other, breaking news, Calgary police have arrested guitarist Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin fame on suspicion of murder, specifically of committing the horrific ‘Zodiac’ killings that have terrorized Northern California for several years now. They can’t share any specifics with us yet; more information pertaining to the case will be released at a later time.”</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>What would be really funny is if I posted this one and then went MIA again, like, the audacity.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Excruciating Foreplay to a Climax Much Delayed</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“In other, breaking news, Calgary police have arrested guitarist Jimmy Page of Led Zeppelin fame on suspicion of murder, specifically of committing the horrific ‘Zodiac’ killings that have terrorized Northern California for several years now. They can’t share any specifics with us yet; more information pertaining to the case will be released at a later time.” </p><p> </p><p>“What the hell!?” </p><p>“I think it was the way he keeps telling the police who he is and regaling them with all the new information he was mysteriously coming across.” Keith displayed a shocking level of insight.</p><p>“What are we going to do?” </p><p>“Jeff Beck’s probably available.” </p><p>“Not about the band!”</p><p>“Don’t worry guys,” Robert assured his Johns, “Peter has a plan in place for when one of us is arrested.”</p><p>“I like how you said ‘when’ instead of ‘if,’” said Pete. </p><p>“Wait, he has a plan already?” </p><p>“One for each of us, individually, actually! Well, mine and Jonesy’s are the same.”</p><p>“Why would ours be the same?” </p><p>“He doesn't think I’d ever commit a serious crime, and he trusts you not to get caught.” </p><p>“How come your manager is always on top of everything and has your best interest at heart and knows the difference between you?” Roger was on the cusp of the age where he was too old to pout adorably, but luckily, he preferred to be ugly and angry. </p><p>“Does your manager not do those things for you?” </p><p>“He would for Pete<em> , </em>because he’s his favorite.” </p><p>“Yeah, I bet <em> your </em> manager doesn’t play favorites.”</p><p>“Oh, he <em> has </em> a favorite,” Robert asserted, “we just don’t know who it is.”</p><p>“It could be anyone except Bonzo.”</p><p>“Wait,” John said, sounding surprisingly concerned, “isn’t Jimmy kind of, you know, sort of pretty for prison?” The room darkened as everyone pondered that for a second. Robert, however, seemed unbothered. </p><p>“He’s a lot stronger than he looks, actually. And his fingernails are fucking <em> sharp </em>.” </p><p>“The problem with that, Percy,” Jonesy reasoned, “is that BDSM usually relies on the prerequisite that the other party doesn’t fight back.”</p><p>“That is going to be a problem, isn’t it?” He sounded really worried, poor thing. </p><p>“I mean, how bad could Canadian prison really be?” Andrew asked, trying to sound reassuring. In doing so, he alerted Roger and the Johns of his presence. </p><p>“Hey, you didn’t introduce- er, I mean- who? Whom? Whom have you brought into our home?” Roger pointed at the Lord among them. </p><p>“Oh, I forgot. Old Roger, Bonzo, Mr. Ox, this is soon-to-be-legendary broadway composer Andrew Lloyd Webber.” They all stared, so Robert decided to give them a memory aid. “You may recognize him from such brilliant hits as <em> Jesus Christ: Superstar </em> , and <em> Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat </em>.” This didn’t ring any bells either, so the singer became frustrated. “Remember, Bonzo, that one we all went to, and you fell asleep right in front of the world-class trained performers, ruining my evening?” </p><p>“And making mine,” Jonesy apparently felt he had to add. Robert whipped around to glare at him. </p><p>“I don’t understand how you- a performer, a struggling musician- can have so little empathy for those poor showgirls. I mean, Jonesy, how would you feel if, during the middle of one of our concerts, you looked down into the audience, and someone was asleep in the front row?”</p><p>“Honestly, that would be my hero. That would make my night. I would buy that person a drink, and then run away with them forever. But also, you know, we have a set that’s hard to sleep through because it’s, what’s the word, interesting.” </p><p>“And Joseph isn’t?” Andrew was insulted. </p><p>“I mean,” Jones quickly backtracked, “I just- Joseph is more calm, and quiet, and it’s all about dreaming, so-”</p><p>“Oh, right, that thing!” Bonzo suddenly recalled. “With all the colors and the dreams and all! I’m sorry about that.”</p><p>“Are you kidding? Baby, that was the best experience of my life!”</p><p>“I don’t understand how defying theatre etiquette is funny to you,” Andrew made no secret of his disdain. </p><p>“Oh, it was beyond <em> funny </em>. It was an out of body experience. I briefly felt my soul leave this mortal plane, and ascend to a higher, better place. All those GoGo Dancers, glaring at me while they danced, that gay hippie man trying to sing over the sound of my lover’s snores, the rising crescendo of my own manic laughter- whether audible to everyone else I hadn’t the faintest clue- the Elvis impersonator, walking off the stage and hitting him,”</p><p>“He’s supposed to interact with the audience anyway.”</p><p>“That John, was the moment we two truly fell in love.” </p><p>“That?” </p><p>“I mean, I’d liked you-”</p><p>“I try so hard, but the thing that made you-”</p><p>“Aha, no, darling, you misunderstand-”</p><p>“Oh, that reminds me, my horoscope said we should fuck.” Jonesy stared at him for a moment.</p><p>“You can just ask.” </p><p>“No, I’m telling the truth, it did!” </p><p>“So is Andrew living with us, or what?” Roger tried to get the gang as a whole back on task, rather like herding cats. </p><p>“I can provide for myself, but I’d rather be permitted to slumber with you.” </p><p>“Perfect; you can have Jimmy’s place next to me.”</p><p>“Already?” John was immediately accusatory and performatively shocked. However, trying to be performatively shocked against Robert Plant was a mistake.</p><p>“What kind of cold modern world do we live in any more,” he started, gesticulating wildly, “when best friends can’t even platonically cuddle all night without being accused of the most base, carnal, wanton, prurient, sinful-” he continued to list synonyms for a few moments while everyone else tried to sit down and fully deal with this latest development. </p><p>“Wait, what if Jimmy gets killed in prison? Then how will you. . .?”</p><p>“Fuck, you’re right. You can’t have a conjugal visit with someone you’ve never met.” </p><p>“Maybe they‘ll make an exception for you.” </p><p>“Maybe prison will be good for him,” Bonzo suggested, prompting all of their heads to turn his way. “I just mean, like, you know, his attitude.” </p><p>With a definitive gloom hanging over their heads, the gang half-heartedly finished Robert’s cute little snack tray and gathered themselves, trying to determine what their next move would- or could- be. </p><p> </p><p>The next week flew by in a haze of grass, panic, legal minutia, strained phone calls, processed meats, and rigged snail races. Robert stress-bought several potted plants, New Roger kept making coy little phone calls (during which the others would politely ignore his awkward flirting, bragging about them, and the way the other person was always audibly angry at him), Pete’s eyes slowly struggled to near-sightedness (with the alleged aid of carrots), and Jonesy managed to fall headfirst into leadership, seemingly against his own will. He ended up taking all of the all-hours-of-the-day phone calls from lawyers and press alike, trying to sort out what the actual killer was doing and what his plan was, babysitting the rest of them- everything that Jimmy would be halfassedly doing were he there. </p><p>To the gang’s infinite luck, the affair had somehow managed to remain relatively quiet- it seemed their manager was working even harder than Jonesy. The bail would be a long time coming due to complicated, sketchy tax reasons that Jonesy, in his exasperation and limited knowledge of the legal loopholes involved, couldn’t manage to make the others understand, no matter how many times he tried. Pete thought he sympathized, as he’d never successfully communicated his ideas to anyone ever, but most of his help only made things worse. He thought he could outsmart lawyers with his infinite index of irrelevant trivia, and lost them a lot of time. Jonesy, however, couldn’t quite get past the euphoria of the illusion of assistance, so things were allowed to continue this way for some time. </p><p>“Gee, John, you should get some rest.” It was day three, and the two of them were intently studying the Canadian bail system, which had been completely rewritten not a year ago. Pete had lost his train of thought for half a second, went to get tea, and entered their workspace with fresh eyes. </p><p>“Hm? Well, the arrest was-”</p><p>“No, I said you should <em> get some rest.”  </em></p><p>“What? I’m fine, really.” </p><p>“Those are some pretty dark smudges under your eyes there, mate.” </p><p>“Can you see them?” Jonesy whipped his head up from his work. </p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Under three layers of concealer?” </p><p>“Yeah, all right, you’re going to bed.” </p><p>“No, I’m actually not.” </p><p>“Don’t tell me I have to force you.” </p><p>“I won’t. Please don’t, in fact.” </p><p>“Those words don’t even make sense.” </p><p>“It’s going to be okay, Peter.” Jonesy seemed to have gone back to autopilot, his eyes cast downwards towards his legal textbook again. Pete was faced with a decision; he wasn’t strong enough to pick the little gnome up, but he wasn’t convinced that any other options were available to him. Unless. . . </p><p>Pete stamped out to The Who’s room, where everyone was sitting on the floor in a circle, playing some kind of card game. As soon as he opened the door, his shall we say unique face was hit with a cloud of secondhand smoke, sriracha, and fuckfumes. </p><p>“Roger!” He demanded, and both of them looked up. Robert did too, hilarious. He kept insisting that he was fine without Jimmy, but Pete still wasn’t sure.</p><p>“What?” </p><p>“I need your help.”</p><p>“What else is new?”</p><p>“Bite me.”</p><p>“Go fuck yourself.”</p><p>“You’re useless.”</p><p>“I hate you.”</p><p>“You’re like if a sheep had a lovechild with the concept of ignorance.”</p><p>“You look like a dead parrot trying to remember what fish tasted like.”</p><p>“I hope you suffocate on an elephant’s dick.”</p><p>“Guys, you’re breaking my concentration!” Scolded Bonzo, who’d never concentrated on anything in his life. </p><p>“Hey, actually, you might be better.”</p><p>“What do you want?” He asked after throwing his cards down with a huff. Pete was having a hard time discerning what game they were playing, assuming that they hadn’t just made one up, but whatever just happened made New Roger extremely happy. </p><p>“You need to make your little boyfriend go to sleep, I’m worried about him.” The drummer scoffed. </p><p>“I can’t <em> make </em> him do anything.”</p><p>“But you’re so strong and cool!” New Roger contributed. </p><p>“Yeah, well, Jonesy grew up in a family that knows how to argue. And he’s a lot stronger than you’d assume, actually.” That made John Entwistle laugh. “I’m serious. It’s like a cat or something. I don’t know how he gets energy or where he stores it, but he always seems to have it.” </p><p>“Fine. Bonzo, Roger, I don’t care who does it, but if someone doesn’t forcibly drag him into bed his body is going to quit him.” </p><p>“It’s not like you can brute-force someone to relax,” Robert said. “Just spike his tea with melatonin.” </p><p>“Where are we going to get melatonin?” </p><p>“Try a store,” the singer replied, pulling a stray ace out of his jeans. </p><p>“Fine. Old Roger, go to the store and fetch us the strongest melatonin they have. Get some cough syrup maybe, too, all right?” Roger rolled his eyes. </p><p>“Fiiiiiiiiiiiine,” he dragged the word out as long as he could. “Where’s Jimmy’s card?” </p><p>“Is it really fair to take his money while he’s in prison?” Daltrey merely shrugged.</p><p>“Not like <em> he’s </em> using it.” </p><p> </p><p>Old Roger dragged John along, since he was the only person who could remember Jimmy’s pin. This was a horrible idea, but neither of them were willing to acknowledge it or to be the bigger person. John inexplicably wanted to use the stairs as soon as Roger had stepped into the elevator; as soon as John’d turned the ignition in the new van, Roger pointed out that they’d be better off in the car; the civil discussion of who should drive wasn’t even worth transcribing. </p><p>The drive was somehow worse. Every time Roger went to turn, John loudly yelled, “Wait!” as if Roger was about to go the wrong way or hit someone. He also delighted in giving him confusing or misleading directions, and occasionally pointing at random. Every time they ran across a dip in the road, John took orgasmic pleasure in pointing at the warning sign and saying, “Look, Roger, it’s you!” Roger, to his credit, had an adorable habit of randomly jerking the vehicle to the side, or occasionally slamming on the brakes. John’s solid body lurched this way and that, but he said nothing, determined to passionately ignore the other’s machinations to the best of his ability. </p><p> </p><p>“What do you think Jimmy’s doing?”</p><p>“Getting beaten up in jail, probably.” </p><p>“Why would you say that Keith?” Robert fretted.</p><p>“Why would you ask?” </p><p>“I win!” New Roger declared, having totally forgotten the rules of the game. Andrew gently looked up from his little notebook to explain to the boy that he’d actually lost. Pete narrowed his eyes, which were almost back to normal functioning. </p><p>“What’s that you’re working on, Andy?”</p><p>“Don’t call me that. I was just thinking,” Pete narrowed his eyes further, “from what your Robert has told me, it sounds like your adventures thus far have been very exciting.”</p><p>“Get to the point music man,” Pete said in a hilarious musical theatre reference that he didn’t even recognize as such. “Also stop talking like my granddad.”</p><p>“I thought your investigation might be a good basis for a musical.” </p><p>“You’ll be hearing from my attorney!” Pete exclaimed, while Robert simultaneously cried out in support. </p><p>“Can I help? Please? I know I don’t really have a theatre voice, but I think if you give me a chance, I think I could-”</p><p>“I’m very sorry Robert; I rewrote it so you’re a girl.” </p><p>“Oh. I see.” He chewed on that for a moment, unconsciously tugging at a curly strand of flax. “I mean, yeah, I understand why- I can play a woman!” He eagerly assured the toad-faced lord. </p><p>“I can’t do any casting this early in the production.” </p><p>“I see. When you do, I’ll be available!” </p><p>“You don’t know that.” </p><p>“Shut up Bonzo. Do you want to ruin my chance at fame?” </p><p>“You’re already famous.” </p><p>“In the barbaric arena of pop music, maybe.”</p><p>“If you rewrote Robert to be a girl,” Pete stepped into the fairy ring of cards and discarded blunts to get closer to Andrew, towering over him and attempting to see the notes upon the page. “What else did you change?” </p><p>“And how can you write a story about something when you don’t even know how it ends?” Asked New Roger. </p><p>“Well, I made the other blond one and the bloke with the mustache women too,” </p><p>“Interesting choice.”</p><p>“I cut out the teenager and the big guy, also, eh, you.” He pointed at Keith, who put a hand to his chest as if wounded. </p><p>“You cut me out?”</p><p>“You’re superfluous.” </p><p>“And Bonzo isn’t?”</p><p>“He sort of is, but I’ve decided to make his character the over-sexualised one, with the large breasts- we have to have one, so the foreign tourists have something to look at.” </p><p>“<em> I’ve </em>never been the sexualised one before. Where did that choice come from?” </p><p>“Don’t ask questions, or I’ll cut you out.”</p><p>“I think I might prefer that.” </p><p>“Wait, if you cut Bonzo out, can I be the sexualised one?” </p><p>“Of course you can, Robert.” </p><p>“Can my character wear some kind of beautiful white lace getup?” </p><p>“Sure, Robert.” </p><p>“And she’s an extraordinarily talented singer, a beautiful ingenue- but still humble- and Jimmy’s character, the haunted, dark musicial genius without empathy he offers to take her under his wing, and they fall in love-”</p><p>“Hang on, love, you’re speaking faster than I can write.” </p><p>“What’s my character like?” Pete wanted to know. </p><p>“Oh, I know Rob- your character will have curly <em> brown </em> hair, to indicate her humility, but she’ll be perfect in every other regard.” </p><p>“Perfect!” </p><p>“What’s wrong with curly brown hair?” New Roger asked, sounding strangely offended for someone whose hair was neither curly nor brown. </p><p>Pete tried to ask his same question again, but everyone was interrupted by a shout from the other room. </p><p>“Just fucking call Catherine!” It was unclear whom Jonesy was yelling at, but his tone sounded as if they’d killed his firstborn child. “That’s all I ask of you! And yet, somehow, this is too much!” Andrew quickly jotted something down while everyone else exchanged looks. Of all the weird arrogant rock stars that the gang comprised of and had met, Jonesy seemed the least likely to have a meltdown. Not that establishing an alibi for their coworker was an unreasonable catalyst for such an episode, but words cannot convey how unnerving it was to hear John Paul Jones raise his voice. “No, no- No, don’t! I- what? Fine, just- deal with it. Yeah bye.” He audibly slammed the phone back into its cradle and took in several inhumanly deep breaths. </p><p>Without exchanging a word or even looking at each other, Bonzo and Pete got up to go check on him. Robert wanted to go too, but decided that his presence was unneeded. He resolved to simply burst in in ten minutes or so, unwanted and unannounced, because there’s nothing a stressed professional likes more than spontaneity. What Robert didn’t understand was that that strategy only worked for the vast majority of people- those who found him attractive, a group to which Jonesy did not belong. </p><p>   </p><p>“You know, the thought occurs,” John said, climbing out of the mangled remains of the rental car that had almost cost Jimmy and Robert’s relationship. “That maybe we should have waited.” </p><p>“You think so?!” Roger responded, picking stray bits of gravel and glass out of his nightmarishly tanned, muscular flesh. </p><p>“Not to turn, I mean. I mean, definitely that too, but- This all happened because we want Jonesy to sleep, right?” </p><p>“Yes.” He said curtly, looking around for a payphone. </p><p>“Well, we definitely would want him to go to sleep now thought, right?” Roger looked back at him and frowned. </p><p>“I don’t see why not.” </p><p>“If he falls into a deep sleep at,” John squinted up at the sun overhead to try and discern the time, “two in the afternoon, I’d guess, then he’s going to wake up all energized and ready to go just as everyone else is sleeping. It’s lucky that we’ll be there late.” And they were going to get back late. It looked like they’d have to thumb a ride, but they hadn’t seen another soul on the same road since they accidentally turned out of Calgary. Roger wrapped his arms around himself against the sudden chill, wishing Robert were there to magically walk them through the woods back to home and hearth. Instead he was stuck with John, who wouldn’t give a crippled crab a crutch. And it was about to rain. Roger sighed. </p><p>“Whatever you say Thunderfingers.” </p><p> </p><p>Before Robert could dramatically burst in at the height of the action, Pete and the remaining Johns entered the other room. The game was over, New Roger having accidentally won, and they’d moved to the balcony. The boy was admiring his winnings- Jimmy’s 42nd favorite scarf, which had been his 25th favorite until he’d stained it with pomegranate juice, and which he’d only packed by accident- Andrew was busily writing his next biggest hit or whatever, and Robert was distracted, thinking about starting a perfume line. </p><p>“Oh hi Jonesy,” said Keith, causing everyone else to look at the aforementioned waif. He was visibly disheveled, looking years older and wrapped up in a jacket that was at least two sizes too large for him. </p><p>“Hello Chris,” he whispered back without looking away from the fixed point of attention where his eyes had rested and immediately glazed over. </p><p>“My name’s Keith.” </p><p>“Does it matter?” </p><p>“Sorry,” Bonzo quickly qualified, “don’t mind him, he doesn’t mean it personally.” </p><p>“I might. You don’t know me.” </p><p>“I actually do.” </p><p>“Biblically!” Robert said, misreading the situation as one that warranted a sex joke. Jonesy only glared. “So, um, hey, Andrew had an exciting new idea, do you want to hear about it?”</p><p>“Does Andrew’s exciting new idea involve explaining to me or any of our dipshit lawyers the legal ramifications of a British citizen accused of committing crimes in America being detained in Canada?” </p><p>“Umm, I mean, I think it’ll have to mention that, because, uh, you see,” Robert looked to Andrew for help, and did not receive any. “Well, um, probably not, not at this time.” </p><p>“I see.” Pete sat the despondent bassist down on some tacky patio furniture while everyone else avoided eye contact with him. While the rest of them softly settled into conversation, the drummers looking at clouds while Andrew worked on his magnum opus and Pete and Robert discussed the merits of tuberose versus gardenia or jasmine, Jonesy continued to stare into the void, his mind endlessly cycling through the legal procedures, currency transfer issues, tax regulations, and seemingly infinite legal minutiae that he still had to sort out. The world was nothing to him but files and forms that he still hadn’t filled out. He shrunk deeper into the jacket, letting the fiber and the smell of his lover envelop him. </p><p>After what felt like several hours of perfume discourse, earnestly concerned but unsure of what to do, Robert ventured to ask Jonesy about his olfactory preferences. </p><p>“I don’t wear perfume, Percy.” </p><p>“Yeah, I know. I just- I don’t know, don’t you ever use scented candles or anything?” </p><p>“My favorite candle scent is hot wax.” </p><p>“You haven’t been this mad since the spirit cave,” Bonzo casually remarked from halfway across the balcony. Robert leapt at the chance to prompt them to tell a story together like a bickering old couple. </p><p>“What happened in the spirit cave?” </p><p>“What’s the spirit cave?” New Roger apparently hadn’t ever been to Disneyland. </p><p>“The spirit cave is an attraction in California adventure where you place your hand on an impression of a human hand in the cave wall, and it tells you your spirit animal. On the adjacent wall, it extols the virtues that the animal represents in your character.” </p><p>“The spirit cave is horoscopes for children.” Jonesy sneered from his seat. Bonzo took it in good humor. </p><p>“He’s just mad because I touched the wall and found out that I have the spirit of a bear, which is the second best animal in the world-”</p><p>“Whereas I touched the magic spirit hand and was informed that I have the soul of a skunk.” </p><p>“The adjacent wall said that skunks are creative and industrious-”</p><p>“Doesn’t matter what the magic wall said Bonzo, skunks are known for exactly one thing.” </p><p>“They’re cute though.” </p><p>“I’m not taking it personally, it’s clearly just on a preorganized loop of ten or so animals.” </p><p>“You’re taking it <em> so </em> personally. It’s okay to be a skunk, just because nobody appreciates them-”</p><p>“If the wall is a reflection of myself then riddle me this, bear man: The second time I touched the impression of a hand, the all-knowing spirit cave told me that I was a deer. Explain that.” </p><p>“The ways of the spirit cave evade conventional understanding, darling.” </p><p>“And in what way do you have the soul of a bear? You’re nothing like a bear.” </p><p>“He kinda looks like one,” Keith said, louder than he’d intended to. </p><p>“If your spirit animal is a bear, it’s one of those novelty giant teddy bears that you see in display stores in February.” </p><p>“That’s so sweet.” </p><p>“I didn’t mean it that way.”</p><p>“You know you did,” Robert assured him. </p><p>“Why am I wasting time out here? Jimmy’s still in prison. The future of my career is at stake.” </p><p>“Sounds like your character is very conflicted,” Andrew commented without looking up from his notebook. </p><p>“What do you mean my ‘character?’” </p><p>“Oh, yeah, well,” Shockingly, after the half-gang explained Andrew’s hairbrained scheme to Mister Jones, he didn’t erupt in legal threats or make one of his little judgemental faces. Instead, he earnestly wanted to look at the other’s composition, maybe offer some help. Hoping this would either bore him to sleep or at least lighten his mood, everybody encouraged Andrew to cooperate. To their luck and surprise, the two of them got along quite nicely, and the peaceful tone of the afternoon was restored. Eventually, when it started to get late and a rainstorm blew in from the south, the men piled into their van and perused Calgary, in search of someplace to eat. </p><p>When they returned from what was a surprisingly calm dinner, half of The Who, three quarters of Led Zeppelin, and two obnoxious hangers-on found John and Roger waiting in the hotel lobby. They were filthy, unkempt, soaking wet, and livid. Roger was missing a clump of hair and John’s arm was amateurly bandaged with the torn scrap of a shirt that didn’t belong to either of them. Somehow, through the day’s trials and tribulations, they’d managed to hang onto the two items Pete had requested from the grocery. Upon seeing the others enter with dry hair, high spirits, and a huge stack of still-steaming leftovers, the ox and the zen duck stamped up to them. </p><p>“I’m glad you guys had a nice dinner,” Roger said as if they’d eaten his dog. </p><p>“W-we did,” Andrew said, leaning back as if frightened. He tried to employ a friendly tone, asking, “Where have you guys been?” </p><p>“All the fuck over, since <em> somebody </em> doesn’t know how to read a road map,” John snarled, ostensibly at Andrew but clearly at his petite colleague.</p><p>“It wouldn’t have taken so long if someone didn’t feel the need to wrestle it out of my arms when he was supposed to be driving, crashing our car and stranding us in the middle of fucking nowhere!”</p><p>“Maybe I wouldn’t have needed to if Roger could learn how to read.” </p><p>“Maybe if you would’ve just let <em> me </em>drive, since you’re suddenly mister master navigator!” </p><p>“Maybe-”</p><p>“Why didn’t you just go up to the room?” Pete asked, in the same way that a fish swims into the waiting mouth of a snapping turtle. </p><p>“They wouldn’t let us in, Pete, because we look homeless from walking half the way home.” </p><p>“Maybe we wouldn’t have had to walk if Roger learned how to be polite.” </p><p>“That trucker was a murderer, and I saved both of our lives.” </p><p>“You think we couldn’t take on that greasy fuck if we had to? The two of us?” </p><p>“Anyway, neither of you would be here if it wasn’t for Pete’s asinine melatonin scheme.” Robert said, smart enough to disassociate himself from the cause of their grievances. Both men glared at the only-recently-healed guitarist, and let the other singer lead them up to the comfortable room without another word, accepting his measly offering of a warm meal. </p><p>As soon as the group had reached their rooms, Jonesy collapsed on his bed, sound asleep within minutes. The melatonin pills sailed through the window, fast enough to kill a man, and Roger Daltrey only avoided a manslaughter charge by a margin of about a foot. </p><p>
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</p><p> </p><p>Some arbitrary amount of time later, Jonesy had managed to book them an appointment to visit their little sorcerer. While they were preparing to go, Bonzo looked over the visiting day pamphlet, depressed by the over saturated cheeriness, a thin veneer draped over the institutional and individual issues on open display within.</p><p>“It says the maximum is four people.” Jonesy leant in to look at the form again. </p><p>“It does, doesn’t it? All right then,” he turned to The Who + Roger, “which one of you wants to go with us?” </p><p>“Not it!” Old Roger declared immediately, followed by a whole chorus of repetition. </p><p>“Oh come on!” </p><p>“We made plans, and they deliberately exclude Jimmy Page.” </p><p>“I know we all hate Jimmy, and being around him is a chore-”</p><p>“I don’t hate Jimmy,” Robert gently protested. </p><p>“Nobody <em> hates </em> Jimmy, Jones. We just already made plans, so we can bond as a band while you guys do the same. But yours is in prison, because Led Zeppelin is just a little bit worse.”</p><p>“Keep telling yourself that, Keith. New Roger, do you want to come see Jimmy?” Jonesy stared expectantly at the lad, who unconsciously cringed just a bit. </p><p>“I don’t think he wants me there.” </p><p>“Sure he does, you’re a great kid.” </p><p>“Yeah, but he’s called me ‘New Robert’ like sixteen times.” </p><p>“Well, I’m sure jail is safer than whatever The Who are doing.” New Roger looked from Bonzo to Keith a few times, before reluctantly standing up. </p><p>“Have fun guys!” </p><p>“Oh we will,” Pete assured them as they left, without looking up. </p><p> </p><p>Their journey to prison began in silence. Robert’s knee kept bouncing, New Roger endlessly tapped the window, the Johns in the front continually bickered over Bonzo’s driving choices. The man himself wasn’t totally sure if Jonesy was suddenly remembering that his license wasn’t valid or if he was merely responding to the pressure of the week, but it started to grate on him much sooner than it probably should have. </p><p>“Oh, yeah, baby, just roll right through that stop sign, it doesn’t matter.” </p><p>“Bonzo you’re in the bike lane again.”</p><p>“John, dear, the yellow light doesn't mean ‘speed up.’ In fact, it means the opposite.” </p><p>“Honey you just turned into a dead end again.”</p><p>“Hey, woah, you see that speed limit sign? Really? It seems like you didn’t.” </p><p>“We are in a school zone you sick fuck.”</p><p>“Look out! You almost hit that cyclist!” </p><p>“Well it’s not my fault,” Bonzo finally defended himself, “that he chose to signal in fucking bike language. I don’t speak nerd.” </p><p>“You’re Robert Plant’s best friend.” </p><p>“I don’t speak <em> bike </em> nerd.” </p><p>“I hate you,” Jonesy said, not with teasing affection or even malice, only the numb shock of a man realizing the statement as it left his lips. Bonzo just laughed. Roger and Robert exchanged a look, sharing one another’s confusion before silently agreeing not to press it. </p><p>The prison was as grim as a jailhouse, matching the mood of the men. As they trod through the hallways, past several security checkpoints and dead-eyed guards sizing them up with suspicion, Led Zeppelin (sans Jimmy but featuring New Roger)’s collective spirit fell even lower than it had been. Upon finally reaching the visiting room, they found James seated in a corner sulking by himself. It was good to see that prison hadn’t interfered with his favorite hobby. </p><p>“Hi baby!” Robert stage-whispered, and Jimmy looked up abruptly enough to give himself whiplash. </p><p>“You guys are here.” He sounded earnestly happy to see them, dear god. What had happened? </p><p>“Of course we are, why wouldn’t we be?” Jonesy asked, pretending that he hadn’t forgotten the last visiting day. </p><p>“You didn’t come last time. I was all by my lonesome,” he was clearly trying not to sound angry. </p><p>“Well, the prison didn’t send us any flyers about it last time.”</p><p>“It’s okay; I’m not mad,” he said surprisingly softly. </p><p>“So how’s prison treating you?” Bonzo asked, perfectly interrupting the tender moment. Jimmy looked at him wide-eyed for a beat.</p><p>“Bad, John. Bad.” </p><p>“That’s terrible!” New Roger said, trying to remind Jimmy that he existed. </p><p>“It’s awful in here! You lazy sacks of shit have to get me out of here!” </p><p>“Do you even know,” Jonesy started to say, “how hard I’ve been working-”</p><p>“Not hard enough, evidently.” </p><p>“Guys, let’s all calm down,” Robert anxiously tried to mediate. </p><p>“I’m sorry baby, I am,” Jimmy lied. “I just- it’s so hard in here!” </p><p>“What’s wrong moonchild? What are they doing to you?” </p><p>“All the Canadian teenagers keep making fun of me because I’m a full decade older than them!” Whinged the poor little sorcerer. </p><p>“That’s it?” Jonesy demanded, sneering slightly. Jimmy ignored him.</p><p>“Can you imagine? Those are the two worst categories of person, Canadian teenagers!”</p><p>“Maybe you should lower your voice then, pumpkin,” Robert suggested, noticing that aforementioned Canadian teenagers were all talking to their own visitors not six feet away. </p><p>“They keep calling me mean names because they think I’m the zodiac killer! And the food is bad, and the warden is grappling with new restrictions on how you can punish somebody, and my cellmate likes Fleetwood Mac- you have to help me!” </p><p>“Has anybody. . . Beaten you up, or anything?” </p><p>“Only a little. But, I- I was trying to do market research, as I assumed that Canadian criminals fall under our target demographic, right?”</p><p>“Why in god’s name-”</p><p>“I just explained why! Jonesy’s such a dolt. Anyway, now all these stupid little fuckers have figured out that I’m a member of popular supergroup Led Zeppelin, and they keep making fun of me for it!”</p><p>“So, your main complaint about prison is having to interact with teenagers?”</p><p>“They’re so mean! Did you know that I’ve been an adult for a full decade?”</p><p>“Did you not know that?” </p><p>“I’ve been an adult for a decade! Since 1962! And this is what I’ve done with it?” </p><p>“Oh, it’s okay baby, most of the guys I’m seeing in here are much older than you.”</p><p>“They don’t want to talk to me, because they say I’m just ‘one of those whiny little baby boomers-‘ even though I’m too old to be one of those! Too old!” </p><p>“So you’re mad that people are younger than you?” </p><p>“Loads of people are younger than you Jimmy,” Bonzo tried to assure him. “The four of us, for example-”</p><p>“Just get me out of here, please.” True to his word, Jimmy let a pleading, desperate note bleed into his voice.</p><p>“Oh, sweet pea, we’re trying. It’s gonna be okay,” Robert was attempting to sound comforting. </p><p>“Are you? Is it?” </p><p>“Of course we’re <em> trying </em>,” Jonesy snapped, “you just happen to be incredibly suspicious, and happen to have stuck yourself into one of the most legally complicated situations imaginable!” </p><p>“Oh, that must be <em> so </em> hard, to pay my bail and collect a few alibis!” </p><p>“Jimmy, we haven’t even figured out which of three separate sovereign nations should be in charge of prosecuting! Whether using our revenue as bail is tax deductible is still up for debate-”</p><p>“None of that should matter Jonesy! I have an alibi for every one of those murders, why is this taking so long?”</p><p>“Maybe because you act like a fucking serial killer all the time?”</p><p>“What are you talking about?”</p><p>“We’re trying to find alibis, Jimmy. But, whenever we tell one of your little girlfriends that you stand accused of being the zodiac killer, do you know what they say? They say, ‘Oh my god,’” it’s important to mention that John Paul Jones had an inaccurate but very funny Pamela Miller impression, “‘John, I should have known sooner! I’m lucky he didn’t kill me! It should’ve been obvious, what with his cold, dead shark eyes, and his cool, detached demeanor, the way he took sexual pleasure from inflicting pain-”</p><p>“No, shush, shut up!” Jimmy quickly interrupted John Paul, running the side of his slender hand over his throat to pantomime that he wanted the other man to stop talking. “They aren’t kind to perverts in here.”</p><p>“Then maybe you shouldn’t have been one, Jim.” </p><p>“It’s not bad if you both like it, how many times do I have to-”</p><p>“Is there anything you like about prison, Mr. Page?” New Roger blurted out, being a compulsive placater who hated conflict. Jimmy squinted at him with his upper lip pulled up in thinly-veiled disgust. </p><p>“Who are you?” </p><p>“Look! See! I told you he doesn’t care about me!” </p><p>“Jimmy this is Roger, our ward.” At that moment, the warden warned them that five minutes remained of visiting time. Jimmy turned back to the group, once more desperate and pathetic. </p><p>“Look, I don’t care about my girlfriends or my son or whatever it is, I need you guys to get me out of here. It’s so terrible, I only get twenty minutes outside every day, everyone knows they can get away with bullying me, they don’t have Pantene, there’s only water to drink, please I’m a little pansy musician I can’t last in here you have to help me-” Robert took his hand before he could get much farther. </p><p>“It’s okay baby, it’s okay.” His patience was remarkable. “There’s lots of difficult things to consider, but Jonesy and Peter and all our lawyers and everyone are working really hard, and there’s a lot of evidence to prove your innocence, and everything’s going to be okay very soon, okay?” The littlest magician took a few deep, shuddering breaths, glared at Jonesy one last time, and repeated what Percy had told him. </p><p>“I just have one request, in our last few moments together.”</p><p>“Anything Jimmy. But don’t say it like that, you sound like they’re going to euthanize you like a cute little diabetic cat or something.”</p><p>“Robert, baby, do you think you could maybe give me a handjob under the table?”</p><p>“Oh for the love of god you two!”</p><p>“Shut up Jonesy you don’t know what real love is.”</p><p>“I can’t wait until you guys have a wedding so Bonzo and I can ruin it!” </p><p>“Guys, maybe we should calm down?” Roger offered.</p><p>“Jimmy honey I don’t think my arms are long enough-”</p><p>“Ew have you been trying?!”</p><p>“Jonesy, keep your voice down, the other guys can’t figure out that I’m-”</p><p>“That’s it- I never want to look at you again, I quit, consider Led Zeppelin broken up, goodbye.” </p><p>“You’ll call me tomorrow.” </p><p>“Sadly, I will.”</p><p>
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</p><p>With Andrew safely distracted, trying to reverse-engineer how to use the dishwasher, The Who set about their work. </p><p>“Work” maybe gives the wrong impression, as if they were accomplishing some grand task for a higher purpose. They were trying to find a moose and feed it maple syrup, because they were in canada. Keith knew a guy who had a friend who had a cousin who left an unmarked van full of syrup in a nearby parking lot for what Moon assured them was no significant cost. He was certainly lying, but that’s why they loved him. Life was never boring. Pete decided to drive, insisting that his eyes were fully functioning once again. </p><p>The group drove steadily into the woods, waiting until they felt deep enough for a moose to live within. Eventually, they merely arrived in another town. </p><p>“Goddamnit,” said Pete, turning around. “Keith, what does that sign say?”</p><p>“I don’t speak French.” </p><p>“What do you mean you don’t speak French?” </p><p>“I, Keith John Moon, am unable to-”</p><p>“Isn’t your stupid mime school in France?” </p><p>“Mimes don’t talk.” </p><p>“Okay, but you can’t just be a mime 24/7,” John added.</p><p>“You underestimate me.” </p><p>“You really didn’t think any of this through beforehand, did you?”</p><p>“Do I ever?” </p><p>“I mean, he does have you there Pete.” </p><p>“It doesn't matter. The joke’s going to be on you when you have to drop out two weeks in because you burn through all your money and have to tour again.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t drop out, I would simply manage my money better.” </p><p>“Sure.” </p><p>“I’m serious,” he said, pantomiming sincerity by widening his eyes. “Mimehood is my destiny, and nothing in heaven or earth will stand between it and I.” </p><p>“What if you got to join The Beach Boys?” Roger asked, still bitter about the time he’d offered to leave.</p><p>“Okay one thing could stand between it and I.” </p><p>“The Beach Boys?”</p><p>“There is nothing I wouldn’t do for them. I would kill for them, I would die for them, I would steal, beg, barter, you name it.” </p><p>“What if they wanted you to kill John?” Pete asked, because his new goal for the day was apparently to ruin a relationship. Keith considered it for an uncomfortable amount of time. </p><p>“I mean, probably not? I don’t know. Luckily, they would never ask that of me.” </p><p>“How does that make <em> you </em> feel, John?” Roger asked, twisting his nightmarishly triangular torso around to look at the back seat. </p><p>“You ask as if Pete wouldn’t throw you into a wood chipper for a corn dog without a second thought.” </p><p>Luckily, before that train of conversation could go any further, Pete abruptly pulled over. </p><p>“All right gang, are we ready to find a fucking moose?” </p><p>“I would argue no,” Keith said. </p><p>“Too fucking bad.” </p><p>“Why did we do this?” </p><p>“Shut up Blondie.” </p><p> </p><p>Led Zeppelin (sans Jimmy but plus New Roger) sat dejectedly in one of those sickeningly aesthetic little coffee shops, sipping at their little cups of tea and ruminating on the events of their visit. Nobody was sad for quite the same reasons as anybody else, but their shared misery did at least give all four men something of a commonality. </p><p>“We’ve got to get him out soon,” Jonesy mused.</p><p>“I know,” Robert immediately agreed, but in the tone of a concerned mother figure. “My poor little honey demon, all alone in prison-”</p><p>“No, no, that’s not what I meant. I just- can you imagine if this leaked beyond the Calgary local news circuit? I mean, it’s a miracle that it hasn’t already but- ugh.” He shuddered.</p><p>“You could just change your name to something better, if the bad press is killing you.” New Roger said the dumbest thing they’d ever heard with heartbreaking earnest sincerity. That poor little thing thought he was helping. </p><p>“Like what?” </p><p>“Zed Leppelin?” Bonzo suggested. </p><p>“With all the love and respect in the world,” Robert said, prefacing what Bonzo was sure would be a very disheartening insult, “that’s the single worst idea I’ve ever heard.” </p><p>“Something clean, just one word, like, I don’t know, demon?”</p><p>“New Roger that’s terrible.”</p><p>“Yeah, but I thought it would fit your brand better,” he said, hanging his head. Bonzo had another go. </p><p>“What about Lead Zeppelin- but this time, we spell ‘lead’ correctly?” </p><p>“You’re a genius and I love you,” Jonesy said miserably. </p><p>“Maybe Illuvatar?” </p><p>“Nobody knows what that is Rob.” </p><p>“Well I’d like to hear <em> your </em> idea Jonesy.” </p><p>“I don’t have any, because <em> I </em>understand that changing our name wouldn’t do us any good if it got out that Jimmy Page might be the zodiac killer.” </p><p>“I should go back home,” New Roger realized out loud. </p><p>“That’s okay honey, our adventures are going to end soon.” </p><p>“How can you say that, Percy?” He shrugged.</p><p>“I can sense when things are coming to an end.” </p><p>“Yeah, don’t worry kid,” Jonesy said, “Robert’s psychic powers say that you can go home soon.” </p><p>“No, really John.” </p><p>“I’m not even saying that you were wrong I just- this, the woods, all those times Peter would turn to you and ask <em> you </em>whether the promoter would pay us or not- how exactly does your sixth sense work?”</p><p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have any, I don’t know, supernatural abilities or whatever. I guess I’m just attuned to the world around me. Oh, and sometimes I also reference movies that won’t exist for another decade at least, but that’s not really a power.” </p><p>“Whatever you say, you beautiful enigma.” </p><p>“What if there’s an actual trial?” Bonzo fretted all of a sudden. “My memory’s not very good, what if I perjure myself? What if I say something wrong and he goes to jail?” </p><p>“It’s okay, we’ll get him out before it ever comes to that.” </p><p>“And even if there <em> is </em> a trial,” said Robert, “we can just use you as a character witness.” </p><p>“What good is there to say about his character?” Robert gasped. </p><p>“Come on John! Jimmy has a wonderful character! He taught me how to tie a cherry knot, he’s really nice to his parents, dogs like him- and just think of all the music he’s contributed to the world.”</p><p>“Yeah, he even wrote some of it.”</p><p>“Shut up Jonesy.” </p><p>“Wait, you know how to tie a cherry knot? Could you teach me?” </p><p>“Why would a kid like you need to know how to tie a cherry knot, Roger? You’ve a great personality.” </p><p>“Well, I mean, so do you, but it’s still a fun party trick.”</p><p>“I’m an adult, so it’s okay for a lot of my personality to involve being extremely sexually appealing.”</p><p>“An inordinate amount, some would say.” </p><p>“Shut up Jonesy.” </p><p>“I’m an adult too,” New Roger said, forgetting his entire ruse in a moment of horny frustration. </p><p>“What?”</p><p>“I mean, um,” he panicked, “I just turned eighteen. A week ago.” While he’d hoped this would turn all attention away from him, the opposite happened. </p><p>“It was your birthday and you didn’t tell us? We didn’t even get you anything!”</p><p>“Uh, yeah, that’s okay.”</p><p>“No, it’s not! Let’s throw a party tonight!”</p><p>“Please no-” However he protested, it seemed that Robert was intent on using New Roger’s birthday as an emotional band aid for the loss of his lover and quite possibly career. So he simply sat back and let that happen, trying to remember what date he claimed his birthday was. </p><p> </p><p>There wasn’t a moose in sight, and they were all getting tired of carrying multiple industrial-sized crates of syrup through the woods. </p><p>“Can we go home?” </p><p>“We’re not quitters, Keith.”</p><p>“Why couldn’t we have thought this through?” </p><p>“I think the larger question is why we came up with this idea in the first place.”</p><p>“Because Canada, get it?”</p><p>“Not really.” </p><p>“That’s it.” Roger threw his syrup crates to the ground. “I’m going back to the van.” Without another word, he turned around and disappeared back into the woods. Pete gawked for a moment before John did the same. </p><p>“What are you doing?” He shouted into the forest, receiving no response. Quickly turning to Keith, he said, “We don’t need them, right?” He was clearly assuring himself more than the drummer, who hesitated before telling him, </p><p>“Sorry, mate, I’m going with them.”</p><p>“Fine, sure. Go ahead. I don’t need you either.” He took a few steps forward, trying to put together what his next step should be. While it seemed sensible to stay with the others, Pete also knew that that would make him wrong and Roger right, which he couldn’t bear. No, he had to find a fucking moose, even if it killed him. </p><p>Another hour later and Pete was not only exhausted and frustrated, but lost, dazed, and confused. Add to that disgusted at himself for referencing a rival’s music. Revolting. He kept stumbling through the woods, realizing that the amount of noise he was making was almost definitely scaring away any moose that he might come near, but not really having the strength or wherewithal to change his behavior. Every step forward meant a longer return journey, which meant more humiliation that Pete couldn’t withstand. But every time the doubt crept in, he reassured himself that he’d come this far already, it was too late to turn back. He’d show them!</p><p>But, just as he’d been hiking for somewhere between four minutes and sixty years, Pete came to a realization. Even if he found a moose, even if he got it to drink the syrup, there would be no way to prove this to the others. It would be literally impossible. Any tuft of fur or injury could be just as easily faked. Fuck. Could he simply turn back now and lie? Say that he found a moose, and that he just didn’t know how to verify it to them? If he seemed confident enough, maybe it would seem like a Pete move to go through all that trouble and forget to prove it. </p><p>But was Pete comfortable being a liar? The others would believe what they would, but Pete would always know whether he had been truthful or not. The color of his soul was up to him, could he really sleep at night knowing that he was not only a quitter, but a liar at that? </p><p>Evidently he could, because it was barely another few minutes before he dropped the syrup and turned around. However, his return journey was troubled, as he didn’t have Robert’s fairy genes or whatever, but he also hadn’t bothered to find a path. Every inch of the woods looked identical to him, especially with his subpar vision. Pete kept waiting to find the abandoned syrup crates, but he just didn’t. Eventually, the fear got the better of him, and he began to cry out for help (for literally the first time in his twenty eight years upon the earth). </p><p>“What’s that?” Roger asked, whipping up his sheeplike head to hear better. </p><p>“Hm?” Keith was, evidently, confused. They were sitting atop the vehicle, exchanging secrets and smoking the pile of mystery substance that they’d found in the corner of the van’s cargo area. </p><p>“I thought I heard something, out in the woods.”</p><p>“There’s no way,” John asserted. </p><p>“No, I heard <em> something.”  </em></p><p>“Probably Sasquatch.”</p><p>“John,” Keith gently reprimanded, “Sasquatch isn’t real, idiot.” </p><p>“You believe in Krampus.” </p><p>“Do you think it’s Pete?” </p><p>“I- wait, that actually makes sense! He hates Christmas-”</p><p>“No, Keith,” Roger interrupted, “I’m not saying that Pete is Krampus. I’m saying that Pete might be making the noises in the woods.” They all silenced themselves, waiting for the next shout so they could judge it. </p><p>“It <em> is </em> kind of nasally, innit?” </p><p>“Do you think he needs help?”</p><p>“The question is whether he’ll accept it.” </p><p>“I mean, it’s worth a try though, right?” </p><p>“Yeah, I mean, accidents can happen in the woods.” Roger nodded and slipped off the roof.</p><p>Pete lurched back, seeing a creature approach him other than a tree. For half of a second, he excitedly prepared to meet a moose. But then, with utmost annoyance, he realized that it was but Roger.</p><p>“You?” </p><p>“If you’d rather meet a bear, I could just not rescue you.” Pete scoffed. </p><p>“<em> Rescue </em>me? You couldn’t rescue a jar that you left on a high shelf.” </p><p>“You’ve been hiking for ten minutes and you’ve already torn your shirt.” </p><p>“I hope you get hit by a bus.” Resisting the urge to bicker, Roger simply picked the guitarist up against his permission and carried him, squirming and cursing, back to the van. As soon as their rhythm section greeted him, Pete started to brag about his moose sighting, and they all pretended to believe him. Out of substance and bored of the forest, The Who drove around aimlessly for a couple of hours. Eventually, they found a lake to fuck around in for another few. </p><p>When they returned, they found the room strewn with colorful crepe paper and human despair.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Pete demanded.</p><p>“It’s New Roger’s birthday, can’t you tell?” Jonesy explained in deadpan, without looking up from a huge law book.</p><p>“I put the whole party together all by myself with no help from either John!” Robert bragged unnecessarily, as the whole affair definitely looked like the kind of birthday party that a half-witted hippy would throw together in half an afternoon. </p><p>“We took the kid out shopping,” Jonesy explained again. </p><p>“How old is he?” </p><p>“I’m eighteen.” </p><p>“Did you have fun, New Roger?” John asked good-naturedly.</p><p>“Yeah, I did. The Johns spent a lot of money on me.” He sounded almost guilty, however gleed. </p><p>“It’s a shame we didn’t get you anything.” </p><p>“Actually-”</p><p>“Oh no that’s okay,” he frantically tried to assure them, ignored by all. </p><p>“We have enough maple syrup to kill an elephant.”</p><p>“Thank you?” </p><p>“Yeah don’t mention it. How’s Jimmy?” </p><p>“My poor honeysuckle!”</p><p>“Ew.”</p><p>“It’s- I mean, it’s prison, but most of his complaints were relatively petty, so I’m not too worried about him.” </p><p>“Andrew, how was your day?”</p><p>“He’s in the kitchen.”</p><p>“With the dishwasher?”</p><p>“How’d you know?” Keith only shook his head.</p><p>“Hey, mates?” Old Roger asked. He’d been lagging behind, looking through the mail. </p><p>“Yeah?” He held a letter up. It was from Foothills Medical Centre. They opened it up, knowing what would be within. </p><p>“Who hasn’t had a turn reading?” He looked around, and eventually they agreed to let Andrew read it. </p><p>“‘This is the zodiac speaking. You waste your time as your little-‘ this word has been smudged, by a liquid.”</p><p>“Gross,” said New Roger, taking off his pathetic little birthday hat. </p><p>“‘-as your little Jimmy rots behind bars for my crimes. Pathetic.’”</p><p>“He’s so rude.” </p><p>“‘You’ll find me and my amazing power stored at-’ my god!”</p><p>“What is it, Andrew?!” Robert asked in the tone of a children’s show character asking the camera where he might find the giant red barn immediately behind him.</p><p>“An address!” </p><p>“Wow,” John deadpanned, “I sure am glad you read the whole thing aloud, I don’t know what I would have done had I had to read it myself. How anticlimactic that would have been.”</p><p>”Eat a dick,” Old Roger replied mechanically, eyes fixed on the cryptic message. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Haha look, what’s that? Oh it’s me, doing the thing I promised not to do. Sorry about that! Being totally honest, the finale will also take a while, so don’t hold your breath. I wasn’t even going to publish this until it was all finished but the zodiac killer is suddenly topical after several decades so.<br/>I sincerely hope you’re enjoying this, and I’ll try to deliver a finale worth the wait.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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